


Phoenix Burning

by orphan_account



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: M/M, firefighter!Monroe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a baby-grimm Nick investigates a serial arsonist and Monroe makes his living running into burning buildings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger Warnings: people die and are harmed graphically in fires.**

Nick could smell the fire before they could see the remnants of the building; there was a cloying, sickly smell underneath the usual smoke and hot metal that he was fairly certain had something to do with why he and Hank had been called to the scene. These were the hardest calls for him, for some reason—fire seemed like such a terrible way to die.

He and Hank pulled up the wreckage and slid out of the car, glancing around at the still smoking ruin. It had been a warehouse, and according to the hurried conversation Nick had had with the fire station’s arson guy, had been purposefully burned down sometime around three this morning. Of course Nick couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like whatever they’d used as accelerant had sure as hell done its job and then some.

Hank glanced wordlessly at him before heading toward where Nick could see the fire captain shouting into a walkie-talkie. Nick shot Hank a thankful smile; the guy was a dickfellig and every time he and Nick had to work together, it nearly came to blows.

Relieved of Captain Warner wrangling duties, Nick turned to the half-dozen firefighters who were still milling around the structure, putting out embers and triple-checking to make sure nothing had spread to the nearby buildings.

“Not much left, is there?” a voice said suddenly in Nick’s ear, and he jumped.

“Jesus—”

The man standing behind him smirked, amused. He was taller than Nick and dressed in the usual firefighter’s garb, but with a red stripe on his jacket shoulders that signified Lieutenant. He had his helmet tucked under his arm and an easy smile on his face, which was sooty almost to the point of blackface. Nick thought his hair and beard might be an appealing shade of dark brown if it was clean, and he was the kind of stupidly rugged handsome that invariably made Nick’s stomach flutter. He sighed. Freakin’ firefighters.

“Hi,” the guy said, extending a filthy hand. Nick eyed him for a moment, then shook his hand, regardless. The guy grinned wider, and Nick was irrationally pleased that he’d apparently passed some sort of test.

“I’m Lieutenant Monroe? I’m assuming you’re Detective…”

“Burkhardt,” Nick finished for him, and Monroe nodded.

“One of my men and I found the bodies,” he explained. “I can show you, if you want.”

“Please,” Nick said, and then had to scramble slightly as Monroe set off through the soggy site.

“Hey, Hap!” Monroe called out, and one of the other firefighters stopped what he was doing and jogged over. “Detective, this is Hap Lasser. Hap, Detective Burkhardt,” he said once he’d reached them. He gestured to Nick. “Tell him what happened.”

The guy—Hap, apparently, nodded earnestly and fell into step beside Nick. “Man, it was gross, I mean when we got here the fire was, like, obviously a set, so we knew somethin’ was up. Once we got it mostly out, though, we could smell dämen—”

“Hap,” Monroe said warningly, and Hap blinked. Nick raised an eyebrow at the foreign word, but didn’t say anything, letting Hap go on.

“Sorry,” he said, directed at Monroe. He turned back to Nick. “After we got the fire out, a couple guys thought they might have smelled something cooking. Turns out…” he trailed off as the three of them stepped into what had probably been a storage space. At the back of the ‘room’, near where a wall would have been, Nick could make out the twisted remains of three bodies.

“Once we got inside, Monroe and I found ‘em,” Hap said quietly.

“They were alive for awhile,” Monroe said, pointing toward where deep gouges had been sliced into the wall by the bodies’ heads. “Whoever did this is a real sicko.” Hap nodded in agreement.

Nick stepped forward and crouched down, pulling rubber gloves from his pocket and snapping them on. He touched the grooves lightly and frowned—claw marks. These people had been wesen. He shook his head, looking back toward Monroe and Hap, then startled slightly. Hap’s face was shifted, his wolf features unhappy. Nick glanced at Monroe—this might be easier if he was wesen, too.

And yea, apparently Monroe had noticed Hap’s face as well. He touched his shoulder and squeezed slightly. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Calm down, man. It’s okay—”

“They were—” Hap gulped, and Monroe’s eyes flashed red for a split second, upset. And that was good enough for Nick. He stood and held up his hands.

“I’ll preface this by saying I’m not like the others.” Both Hap and Monroe turned to him with confused looks on their faces, and Nick smiled reassuringly. “You’re blutbaden? I’m a grimm, and I’m not interested in cutting your heads off.”

Monroe and Hap took identical large steps backward, and Nick sighed.

“I’m a _cop_ ,” he stressed, hands still up, careful to not move in the slightest lest he appear threatening. “Unless you eat people, I don’t have any issue with you. But you could help me. Do you smell anything that could be useful to my investigation?”

“They were blutbaden, too,” Monroe finally said after a drawn out moment of shocked silence, then nudged Hap in the side. Hap snapped his mouth shut and nodded. “The marks?” Monroe added. “That’s what our claw marks look like.”

“Yea, that’s what I thought,” Nick muttered, turned back to the bodies. “I’m sorry.”

“The accelerant was dämonfeuer spit,” he head Hap say softly. “We can smell the…” he trailed off, and when Nick turned to look at them, he realized that Hap looked sick. He didn’t know what a dämonfeuer was, but if it was enough to upset a blutbad, he was sure he wouldn’t like it.

“This is the second time we’ve seen blutbaden murdered like this,” Monroe told him, explaining softly. “It hits a little close to home.”

“The second time?” And now Nick was concerned. “When was the first?”

“A long time ago,” Monroe said, again putting his hand on Hap’s shoulder, clearly meaning to lead him away. “Not the same person, Detective, you can be sure of that—it was easily twenty-five years ago. Are we going to need to come down to the station and give a statement or anything?”

“Uh, yea,” Nick said, thrown by the abrupt change of topic. “Whenever is good. If you’re uncomfortable talking to me, I understand. My partner is Detective Griffin, he’s…” he pointed toward Hank, who was busy being yelled at by Captain Warner. “…over there. He’s. He knows about wesen, so you can tell him—”

“We’ll talk to you,” Monroe said shortly. “Better to keep grimms in sight.” He nodded sharply to Nick and led Hap quickly away, picking through the scene with an ease that belied their inhumanity. Nick watched them go for a minute, then turned back to the bodies and squatted down again.

~~~

Lt. Monroe and Hap appeared a few hours later at the precinct, freshly scrubbed and wearing civilian clothing. Nick caught them in the hall, and though Hap still looked nervous, Monroe had a steely glint in his eye that Nick picked up on at once.

“Let’s talk in private,” Nick said softly, and gestured them toward one of the interrogation rooms. “You look like you have something to say.”

If possible, Hap looked even more nervous, but Monroe just glanced at his friend, a reassuring look on his face, then said, soft enough that Nick was sure he wasn’t supposed to hear it, “He’s not going to behead us in a police precinct, dude. He’s a _cop._ ”

“He’s a _grimm_ ,” Hap muttered, but followed anyway when Monroe rolled his eyes and stepped into the room.

Once in, Nick shut the door and faced them stiffly, crossing his arms. This was always the difficult part—his police work brought him into contact with wesen on a surprisingly regular basis, and he invariably had a difficult time explaining (and getting them to believe) that he wasn’t here to hurt them. Fortunately, this time, Monroe seemed—at least slightly—inclined to believe him.

Nick started with his usual disclaimer: “I’m not going to hurt you.” He didn’t adjust his posture, though, because practice had taught him that cornered wesen could be dangerous wesen.

“All right,” Monroe countered, just as stiff as Nick, which, okay. There wasn’t any aggression there, but there was nothing wrong with defense. “You’re a cop.” He glanced up at the ceiling, eyes flicking to the camera (which wasn’t on, but the blutbaden had no way of knowing that). He turned himself slightly, facing his mouth away from its eye. “Most of your people hide in the shadows, so the fact that you’re not…” he trailed off and fixed Nick with a penetrating gaze.

“I’m a cop first,” Nick agreed, “and a grimm second. I only go after the bad ones, and right now, I want to catch the bastard who killed those blutbaden.”

“We’ve… run into grimms before.” Monroe glared down at Nick, daring him to say something, but Nick just nodded.

“I’m sure it was unpleasant.”

“To put it mildly,” Hap muttered.

Nick shook his head and dropped his hands to his sides, making himself a shade more vulnerable. “Look. I don’t expect you to trust me, not at first. You’d have no reason to do so—I mean, I’m sure we’ve hundreds of years of animosity at our backs, but for whatever it’s worth, I—” He sighed and backtracked. “I also am well aware of the professional rivalry of cops and firefighters, but I respect what you do, and the fact that you’ve chosen to run into burning buildings for a living instills a healthy amount of trust in my head. So I’m just asking you to work with me, not to like me or have a beer with me—just work. Give me a chance.”

Monroe listened silently through Nick’s speech, his stony face gradually relaxing as Nick continued. He even twitched the corner of his mouth up, amused, at the ‘have a beer’ comment. When Nick was done, Monroe glanced at Hap with a ‘told you’ look on his face, then turned to him and graced him with a small, tight smile. “We’ll do whatever we can to help.”

Nick nodded, pleased, and led them out of the interrogation room and to his desk. “Hank knows about…” he made a vague gesture in the air which was meant to mean ‘all this wesen stuff,’ “…so you can talk freely around him, okay?”

“Sure,” Monroe said easily, and he and Hap dropped down into a set of chairs that Hank had arranged between their desks.

Nick sat too, then pulled out a recorder and a couple blank sheets of paper. “Right, let’s take it from the top—including the less-than-usual elements of the case. Hank and I’ll rework your statements later for filing.” He glanced up and was momentarily arrested by the amused look in Monroe’s eyes.

And hey, that was awesome. He didn’t mind defensive, (he could work with defensive) but he’d much rather if they weren’t at each other’s throats. Relaxing ever-so-slightly, he let himself take in the long lines of Monroe’s body very, very quickly (because fuck, he was a grimm, not a monk, and ‘professional rivalry’ aside, _firefighters_. Enough said.). Yea, amused is better than defensive any day, especially as Monroe apparently cleaned up nicely.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve done this,” Monroe stated, and Nick shrugged, snapping back to the moment.

“You’d be surprised.”

Hank laughed. “Sometimes I wonder how we managed to solve any cases without the added benefit of Nick’s grimm-ness. Seems like every other crime we work is wesen-related.”

Hap, who was seeming to relax a bit more, smiled. “We’re an unruly bunch.”

Monroe raised an eyebrow and deadpanned, “Except for Hap and myself, of course. We are the straightest of straight-edge blutbaden you’ll ever meet.” He suppressed another smirk. “We got all the crazy out of our systems years ago.”

“I’m sure,” Nick said with a smile. “I’m assuming you guys are wieder?”

With a small, pleased look, Monroe nodded, leaning forward slightly, another layer of armor gone. “I’m—I’m actually surprised you know the terminology. Most grimms wouldn’t—”

Nick’s smile grew. “I’m just good like that. And I find that it’s useful to know about the people I’m going to be working closely with.”

“We’re going to be working closely?” Monroe asked, and there was that eyebrow again, but he still looked pleased.

“Well—” Nick started to say, but Hank interrupted, clearing his throat. Nick blinked and looked over, simultaneously realizing that he’d been leaning closer to Monroe and actually _flirting_ a bit, and _damn_ attractive firefighters, damn them all to hell. He leaned back, ignored Hank’s amused gaze and Hap’s confused look— _especially_ ignored how Monroe was blushing slightly and leaning back in his chair, too.

Nick cleared his throat. “Statements.”

“Right,” Monroe muttered, flustered, but he seemed to get back on track pretty quickly. “Um. We got the call at three, oh…”

“Twenty-ish,” Hap supplied. “I’d just made a sandwich, man, disappointing.” He sighed. “Pulled pork, with those crunchy onion thingies on top?”

Monroe shot him an affectionate, exasperated look. “Three twenty-ish. Anonymous call, apparently. It took us ten minutes to get the scene—our station is relatively close to where the warehouse was—but by the time we got there—”

“Kablooey, man,” Hap interjected, with an expansive arm gesture that Nick assumed meant explosions.

“It blew up?” Hank asked, pausing from where he was taking shorthand notes. Monroe shook his head.

“Sorta. Have you seen how dämonfeuer spit works?” Hank looked confused, and Nick shook his head. He’d looked up the name immediately after talking to the blutbaden at the scene, though, so he at least knew what they were talking about.

“It’s not really spit,” he explained, turning to his partner. “They can convert the fat in their bodies into a chemical that’s highly flammable, then they can light it… they’re kinda dragonish.” Hank stared at him for a moment, his eyes wide, then shook his head and picked up his pen again.

“…Never a dull freakin’ moment…” he muttered. Hap shrugged and Monroe smiled. Nick, for his part, considered how dangerous that smile might be when applied inappropriately.

“Anyway,” Monroe said, breaking the moment, “once we could get close enough—because you don’t want to be anywhere near dämonfeuer, y’know, _release_ when that stuff goes up, cause _whew_ —” he shot Nick a pointed look, and Nick nodded gamely. “Um. Well, we moved in, worked on putting the thing out, but it burned fast. I mean, we were maybe only there an hour before it was completely gone.”

“Dämonfeuers are a hell of an accelerant,” Hap added.

“Do you think it could have been one of them?” Nick asked, and then when Monroe looked surprised, added, “I’m not actually—I don’t know much about them. Just what I’ve got from my family’s records, but—”

“He’s new,” Hank offered. “Started seeing things maybe six months ago, thought he was going crazy.” He leaned back in his chair. “Then his aunt showed up and there was a whole scene, she explained everything, wasn’t too happy that he’d come to me about seeing crazy stuff—she was one scary lady. No offense, Nick.”

Nick shrugged. “So yea. Like I said, I don’t know much. This has been kinda thrust on me, so…”

The blutbaden both seemed to be rather surprised by this news. Hap especially looked pleased, and significantly less worried that Nick was about to snap and chop his head off, but Monroe just looked thoughtful.

“You said ‘was’?” he asked softly. “Just that, I’d like to know if there are more grimms running around Portland…”

“She died,” Nick said. “Cancer.”

Monroe screwed up his face and stammered, “Sorry, I—”

“Don’t be,” Nick interrupted. “She meant a lot to me, but from what I can tell, was pretty unpleasant to the wesen population. So…”

There was a moment of awkward silence, then Monroe cleared his throat and said, “I don’t think it could have been a dämonfeuer who actually set it. I could smell them all over the building, and they usually concentrate on one specific area. Unless there was a battalion of them, it wouldn’t have been possible.” Nick nodded and made a note.

“After we put the fire mostly out, we went in to clear any hot spots,” Hap jumped in. “That’s when we found ‘em.”

Hank nodded and Nick clicked his pen. “Alright. Thanks, guys.” He stood, so Hap and Monroe did too. After a moment of digging in his pocket, Nick emerged with a card, which he handed to Monroe. “If you think of anything else…”

“Sure, sure,” Monroe said, then flashed Nick a smile that made Nick’s heart flutter.

_Blutbad_ , Nick reminded himself. “Thank you,” he said again. Hap headed off, calling something about dinner over his shoulder at Monroe. Nick walked a few steps forward in time with Monroe, letting Hap go on ahead. When they reached the hallway, Monroe paused, scratching lightly at the back of his head.

“Uh. Alright. See you around, Detective.”

Nick looked down and smiled, then clasped Monroe briefly on the shoulder before dropping his hand. “See you, Lieutenant.”

~~~

Nick rolled his neck, cracking it, and glared at the crime scene photos he had spread out on his kitchen table. It had been two weeks since that first fire, and there’d been four more—each with its own grisly gift of blackened and burnt bodies, each smelling of that cloying scent that he’d noticed at the first scene.

Nick was fairly certain the victims had been wesen too—there had been signs at each of the scenes that pointed to more-than-human people falling prey to this murderer, though of course Nick couldn’t be sure. Not for the first time, he wished wesen would retain their true faces when they died.

He sighed, running a hand through unkempt hair, and glanced at the kitchen clock—jesus, was it that late already? Shaking his head, Nick stood and considered going to bed, but he hadn’t eaten since breakfast this morning, and he really should—it wouldn’t be good for him to fall sick when Portland was experiencing its first serial killer in fifty years.

But just as he opened his fridge (the pickings were a tad pathetic, but he hadn’t had time to go shopping recently) his phone rang. He eyed it—he was off duty (Renard had insisted) and so technically didn’t have to answer, but when he looked at the caller ID, it wasn’t Hank or the station; rather it was a number he didn’t recognize.

After a moment longer of indecision, he answered. “Who’s this?”

There was a beat of silence, then, “ _Um. Detective Burkhardt? It’s, uh. Lieutenant Monroe. From the—_ ”

Nick relaxed. “Hi, Lieutenant. I remember you. What’s up?”

There was a sigh from the other end of the line. “ _Sorry to call you so late, but I was thinking you might want to hear this._ ” A pause, and Nick sat, listening intently. After a moment, Monroe went on, speaking in a rush. “ _I asked around, you know, the community, when more fires started popping up. I mean, my station didn’t respond to any of them, but I still heard about ‘em, I mean we talk to other stations—_ ”

“Lieutenant,” Nick prodded, gently, and Monroe let out a low laugh.

“ _Sorry. I’m still a little dazed that I’m apparently calling a grimm at home_.”

“No problem,” Nick said with a grin. “Though I am vaguely curious about how you got my cell number.”

Another of those low, nervous laughs. “Your _partner gave it to me when I called the station. Said I should call anytime_.”

Nick closed his eyes. Fucking Hank. Of course he’d given a _blutbad_ _firefighter_ Nick’s cell number. No boundaries, that one. “Yea, that sounds like Hank,” he told Monroe. “So, what’s up?”

“ _Sorry, sorry_ ,” Monroe said, and there was a sound of shuffling papers. “ _So I’ve been asking around, seeing if anyone in the community has seen anything sketchy recently or heard anything, and according to this lowen lady I know—she works for the department of corrections—apparently the eisbibers down on the south side of town  have gone underground. They’re a pretty big clan, and you know eisbibers, they’re a jumpy bunch, but they don’t usually go into hiding unless something, you know, **big** is going down, so that’s weird. _

_“And I don’t know how far you’ve gotten with IDing the bodies or anything, but there’s a couple wendigos that have apparently gone missing—not that anyone’s actually **missing** them, creepy fuckers—but they’ve disappeared. I’ve got—_ ”

“Whoa, whoa,” Nick interrupted, head already swimming from the flow of information. “Listen, are you free tomorrow? I’m not on call and am technically not supposed to be working on this case in my down time, but you know, grimm duties wait for no man or something like that…”

A pause, then, “ _Um. Sure?_ ”

“Great.” Nick glanced at the clock again. “Could you meet me for lunch or something? Go over this stuff face to face? ‘Cause I’m mostly exhausted right now and…” he sighed. “Yea, I have no idea what a wendigo is or that there’s apparently a group of eisbibers in town…”

The laugh from the other end of the line was more amused and less nervous this time. “ _Tell you what,_ ” Monroe said, “ _come to my house tomorrow, I’ll make you lunch. I’m a surprisingly good cook, provided you don’t mind vegetarian food._ ”

Nick grinned into the phone. “That sounds awesome. What time?”

“ _Um. Noon? And then I can tell you whatever you need to know._ ”

“Perfect,” Nick said. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

“ _Oh, jeez, just call me Monroe,_ ” the voice on the other end of the line said, and Nick could hear his smile. “ _That’s what my friends call me._ ” 

~~~

Nick stared with wide eyes at the spread of papers on Monroe’s coffee table—there were what appeared to be documents in German, blueprints, inventory lists—

“How did you—?” Nick asked, and Monroe shrugged.

“I called in a few favors.” He reached out and unearthed a page from somewhere in the middle of the pile and handed it to Nick. “Here’s a list of wesen that have gone missing in the past month—it’s probably more than your victims list ‘cause some of us tend to keep on the move, but it might be helpful.”

“It will be, thank you,” Nick muttered, scanning the list. “Uh, you said something about wendigos?”

Monroe pointed to a pair of names on the list. “Here, but like I said, no one’s really missing them.” He leaned back on the couch, his knee barely brushing against Nick’s, but it was enough to get Nick’s attention.

“Okay, I mean I really do appreciate this, but—” Nick looked at him, eyes wide, and gestured between the two of them. “Why are you helping me? Everything my aunt left me has kinda led me to believe that we really shouldn’t be getting along.”

Monroe snorted. “Yea, the eternal struggle between blutbad and grimm… overplayed, if you want my honest opinion.”

“Still…” Nick prodded, and Monroe leaned forward.

“You’re new,” he stated, and Nick nodded. “And seem to be a decent sort of person.” He smiled and shrugged. “And I kinda like the idea of a non-violent…ish… grimm.” He paused and cleared his throat. “So… do you want a history lesson? Something from a different perspective from those undoubtedly violent records of yours?”

“That’d be awesome,” Nick smiled, somewhat weakly. “I haven’t really admitted it to Hank—I mean, he’s human and just kind of going along with what I’ve been saying, but—I’m floundering. It’d be nice to have some help.”

“And I’m more than willing,” Monroe said—and was it Nick’s imagination, or was there something like innuendo in Monroe’s voice? But the next second it was gone and Monroe was standing, gesturing for Nick to follow him. “We’ll eat and talk. I made tamales and salsa.”

Nick gamely followed Monroe into the kitchen, simultaneously thinking about the sheer oddness of this situation and cataloguing… his new friend? CI? Mentor? _Monroe’s_ house. It was homey and clean, and boasted a mishmash of antique clocks and books and neat piles of firefighting gear. There was a cello tucked into a corner on a stand and an extensive wine rack in the kitchen. Nick felt oddly relaxed, more so than he’d felt in a long time.

“So how much history do you know?” Monroe asked as he pulled a plate of tamales from where they’d been keeping warm in the oven.

Nick shrugged. “Just what my books say.” And then he explained about his aunt and her trailer (Monroe looked a mixture of fascinated and worried at the thought of said trailer) and about how he’d been thinking he was going crazy until Hank had seen a wildermann woge during a stressful case. Monroe listened silently, his arms crossed, food forgotten.

When Nick finally finished, Monroe nodded slowly. “Well. I think you’ve got the basics—and you’re clearly not insane. I guess I can just fill you in when you have any questions, that okay?”

“Yea,” Nick muttered. “I looked up blutbaden, you know,” he added, “after I met you and Hap? I’ve got an entire book on you guys.” He smiled. “Well—not you specifically…”

“I should hope not, I’m not terribly interesting,” Monroe said with a grin, then gestured to the food. Nick took a bite and raised his eyebrows in surprise—apparently vegetarian tamales were wonderful. Monroe took a bite of his own and then said, “It’s not a surprise that you’ve got a lot on blutbaden. We’re some of the most common wesen, and have a tendency to be violent. There’ve been a whole lot of contentious relations between our ancestors.” He pointed at Nick with his fork. “But I’d like to stress, once again, that Hap and I are a wieder. Of the mostly vegetarian, always non-violent sort.” He sighed. “We actually don’t have many friends in the traditional community.”

“I believe you,” Nick said around a mouthful of chip. “And um. Thanks for lunch.”

Monroe blinked. “Yea. There was a reason for you coming over, wasn’t there…? I could—”

“Yea, sure,” Nick agreed. They ate quickly, Nick going over the bare outlines of the case, Monroe filling in a few gaps. When they were done, they retired back to the living room, where they talked for hours, late into the night. Their conversation slowly shifted from the case to wesen history to general get-to-know-you talk, with Monroe telling stories and Nick listening, transfixed.

And when Nick left Monroe’s house, shortly before midnight, he did so full and happy, and didn’t spare a thought worrying about just how amazing he thought Monroe was.

~~~

It took exactly two days and another fire before Nick was calling Monroe up again, asking for help. He wasn’t exactly sure what he thought Monroe might be able to do—sniff the crime scene, maybe? But Monroe agreed to meet him at a quiet coffee shop near the scene of the latest fire no questions asked, and Nick avoided thinking about the fact that he might be making up excuses to just see the man.

Coffee turned into lunch, which turned into a walk (they stopped at the crime scene, but didn’t linger) which turned into Nick grinning at Monroe and opening his car door for him when it was finally time for Monroe to go—he had to get to his station at some point in time.

It had actually been an utterly pointless meeting, but Nick didn’t think it had been wasted. He knew he was pushing it—blutbad firefighters don’t fall for grimm cops, but hey. A man can dream, can’t he?

~~~

But two fires and nine bodies later, Nick was… on edge, grasping at straws, looking into _anything_ that could shed some light.

It was ten at night, and he was pacing his living room—twelve steps from the couch to the kitchen entrance, three to the wall, then twelve back—when a comment Monroe’d made weeks ago, at that first scene, swam back into the forefront of his mind.

Something about how they’d seen it before.

Nick was out his front door, keys in hand, before he’d even fully realized his plan.

Monroe’s house wasn’t far from his own; only ten minutes or so. Nick was relieved when he spotted Monroe’s yellow Bug parked in the driveway—he had questions, but didn’t really want to go to the fire station to get them answered. He’d much prefer talking to Monroe in private.

So out his car and up the steps, and three quick knocks on Monroe’s front door. Nick had just enough time to feel bad about not calling first before the door was swinging open and, oh—

“Hi, Hap.”

Hap stared at him, shock apparent on his honest, open eyes, before he backed up a step and shut the door in Nick’s face. Nick tilted his head; he hadn’t been expecting that. From the other side of the door, he suddenly heard what appeared to be a muffled argument, then the door opened again, this time with Monroe smiling apologetically.

“Sorry. Come in?”

“Is it…?” Nick stammered, thrown off, but Monroe just shrugged.

“Don’t mind Hap.”

“He’s…”

Monroe rolled his eyes and retreated down the hall, leaving the door open and Nick standing on the porch. Nick had no other option but to close the door behind him and follow. He found Monroe in the kitchen; there was no sign of Hap.

“Sorry I came over without calling,” Nick apologized.

“Don’t worry about it—I’m not usually asleep this time anyway, so no harm, no foul. Coffee?” Monroe smiled at him, and the nerves in Nick’s chest loosened. He nodded, and Monroe set about fixing him a cup. “Anyway,” Monroe continued, “I assume you needed something?” He handed the sweet-smelling concoction to Nick, smirking, and glanced up over glasses that Nick had just noticed were perched on the end of his nose. “…Unless this is a booty call…?”

Nick promptly choked on the coffee. “I—” he stammered once he could breathe again, but Monroe was grinning.

“Just kidding,” he said (Nick told himself that he was _not_ disappointed, not at all) and plopped down in one of his kitchen chairs. “So what’s up?”

Nick sat too, angling himself toward Monroe, and gently clinked his cup to the scarred surface of Monroe’s table.

“I’ve got a question,” he said after a moment of thinking. “I wasn’t thinking clearly when you guys came in to give your statement, or I would have asked you then, or even one of the times I’ve seen you since then. But I’m at a loss, and you might be able to help.” Nick looked up, hopeful, and Monroe gave him a ‘go ahead’ finger twirl. Nick nodded. “At that first fire, you said something about having seen something like this before?”

The atmosphere in the kitchen changed instantly. Before, Monroe had been leaning back slightly, relaxed, but at Nick’s words, he froze, stilling for a moment, then forced a slight smile. He cleared his throat. “Yea. But it wouldn’t—couldn’t—be an issue anymore.”

“Why not?” Nick frowned. “Monroe, if you’ve got something…”

There was a drawn out minute of silence; Monroe drummed his fingers on the table a little aimlessly. Finally though: “All right. I haven’t talked about this in a long time, Nick. And I don’t think it will help. But it might, I don’t know, you’re the detective.” He swallowed, and Nick resisted the urge to reach out and touch him, comforting.

“If it’s—” Nick started to say, but Monroe shook his head, cutting him off.

“No, it’s. It’s okay. It’s just not a happy story.”

Nick gave in and reached out, brushing his fingers lightly along Monroe’s knee. “Hey man,” he said, soft. “I’m here.”

Monroe nodded, then smiled a ghost of a pained smile. “Yea. Fuck if I know why, but yea, you are.” He sighed again, then sat up, preparing himself. “Um. When Hap and I were kids, there was—it was—” he gave Nick a slightly desperate look, but Nick just gazed back, supportive. If this could help…

Monroe shook his head, resigned. “When I was little, I was in a pack.”

~~~

_Monroe rolled over, shuffling in the blankets tangled around his waist and legs. Next to him, Hap and Angelina and Rolf stretched, piled together in the comfortable way that children have. Monroe opened a bleary eye, sniffing, instantly locating his younger brother and sister—they were curled on the other side of Rolf, hidden from view and still fast asleep in a pile with the Jones’ twin pups. He yawned, safe and warm, and was half-asleep again when he first heard the voices._

_“Wake them up.”_

_“We don’t need to scare them, Andy.”_

_“No, but we need to get them the fuck out of here.”_

_“It’s just rumors—”_

_“It’s **not** just rumors, Gwen! It burned down the lowen pride’s hall! There were children in there, and it didn’t **care** , I can’t let our pups—” the voice cut off with a sharp growl, and Monroe sat up, awake now. Andy was Angelina and Rolf and Hap’s older brother, one of the leaders of their pack, and if he sounded scared—_

_Monroe rolled out of the bed and padded softly to the ladder leading out of the loft. He rubbed his hand across his eyes, waking himself up more. He glanced over his shoulder; at eleven, he was the oldest of the pups and was already feeling the protective urges for his pack that came with puberty. The rest of the pups were still sleeping soundly, which was good—they didn’t need to concern themselves over whatever was wrong._

_Fully awake now, Monroe paused at the lip of the loft. He could see shadows moving—Andy pacing and Gwen waffling nervously nearby. With a smooth movement, Monroe slid down the ladder, landing lightly. “Andy?” he asked, and then jumped slightly when Andy turned to him, pale and with several bloody slices down his face._

_“Hey, Junior,” Andy breathed, and Monroe made a face. No one called him that anymore—not since his father died. He was just ‘Monroe’ now, same as his father and his father before him. Andy smiled, a small, painful smile, realizing his mistake._

_“What’s wrong?” Monroe asked, glancing at Gwen. She was the pack’s variant of a governess—she watched the pups when the rest of the pack was out hunting, and was easily in her seventies. Monroe liked her. She was his second mother, and it scared him a little more to see her eyes wide with fear. He looked back to Andy, who just tried to smile. He was unsuccessful._

_“Monroe, have you seen your mother?” Andy asked, falsely placating, and Monroe narrowed his eyes. “Or my dad?” His voice turned a shade desperate. “Or **anybody**? Steven or Zee?” _

_“No.” Monroe looked out the window, then said, more forcefully, “What’s going on, Andy?”_

_Andy ignored him, nodding to himself and starting to pace once again. “Okay. It’s okay. Gwen, grab a bag or two—just enough to get us by. We’ll get to the cabin, we can hunt if we need food.” She nodded and disappeared into the direction of the kitchen, and Andy suddenly spun, kneeling in front of Monroe._

_“You gotta grow up tonight, Monroe,” his said, his voice low. “Something bad’s happening. There’s a grimm, and I think it’s coming after us. You understand?”Monroe nodded, suddenly feeling very young, nightmare visions reaching up suddenly from his subconscious, horror stories his gramp and gran had told him about severed heads and murder and—_

_“Hey.” Andy shook his shoulders slightly. “Stay with me, Monroe. You need to go wake everybody up. Tell Angie to get everyone ready, then you and Rolf come down. You two both know how to shoot?”_

_“’Course,” Monroe said, and Andy looked at him, his eyes sad._

_“We’ll be fine,” he said softly. “It probably will leave us alone. Our pack doesn’t hurt humans, and grimms know that kinda stuff, okay? I just want to be—”_

_“Safe,” Monroe finished for him. He might be a kid, but he wasn’t stupid. Andy nodded and stood._

_“Damn, what’s taking Gwen so lo—” He was cut off by a crash from the kitchen, and he and Monroe both instantly woged. There was a beat of silence, then the air filled with a thick, sweet scent, almost painfully potent._

_“No,” Andy whispered. Then: “Monroe, get the pups, get the fuck out of here, I’ll hold it—” the next second, a flaming arrow flew into the room, dripping the essence of dämonfeuer, and a dark shadow appeared in the doorway. It had a long, black coat and an axe was swinging gently in one hand. Monroe’s vision narrowed—watching the drip drip drip of blood falling from the shining edge of the blade._

_“We haven’t done anything,” Andy yelled, and Monroe jumped. From the doorway, there was a flash of white (teeth, Monroe realized, the grimm was grinning) and a flurry of cloth. A twang, and the next moment, Andy was on the ground, a bolt imbedded in his chest and there was blood and Monroe cried out and backed up, terrified._

_Andy turned to him, grasping fruitlessly at his chest. “Run,” he sobbed, and Monroe did._

~~~

Dead silence in Monroe’s kitchen.

Monroe was staring down at the floor; Nick was staring at Monroe, his mouth open in shock. Finally:

“Holy fuck, Monroe.”

Monroe didn’t say anything for another long minute, then shook his head and cleared his throat. “Hap and I were the only ones that got out. Hap’s got—he was burned pretty bad. So was I, I’ve got scars and…” He paused again, then rallied and looked up. “The grimm killed three other groups besides the lowens and my—my pack. A, a, ward of geiers, a pack of schakal, and a, uh, warren of mauzhertz. All burned.”

Nick didn’t want to say anything, still reeling from Monroe’s story, but he was a _cop_ and he _had_ to—“…How do you know it’s not the same guy?”

There was another extended silence, then: “I saw.” Monroe cleared his throat and glanced at Nick again, sighed. “The grimm was killed. I saw him die.” A dark look crossed his face for a second, and Nick had a momentary glimpse of the creature his ancestors were so afraid of, but the look passed quickly. “Trust me, Nick. It’s not the same guy.”

Nick looked down, emotionally overwhelmed and suddenly exhausted. “You’re trusting me,” he said softly. “Why? After all that—”

Monroe shook his head. “It was twenty five years ago, Nick. Blutbaden deal differently with trauma than humans do, and—” he let a very small smile appear on his face. “You… this is going to sound stupid, but regardless… you smell safe. You smell like I should trust you.” He sighed. “I don’t think you’re going around killing wesen and burning them—I’d get a different feeling from you if you were. Also, you probably would have killed me and Hap by now if that were the case.”

Nick tilted his head—yea, that made sense. He frowned slightly, wanting to ask, thinking twice. Monroe smiled slightly. “You want to know why the hell Hap and I became firefighters after all that?” Nick nodded, and Monroe leaned back in his chair. “Easy. No one deserves to die like that. We picked what we do to try and stop things like that from ever happening again.”

“Oh, Monroe,” Nick breathed, and then suddenly, without his express permission, he was up and invading the small amount of space between them, pulling Monroe into a tight hug and resting his lips on the top of Monroe’s head. There was a moment where Monroe tensed, but he melted quickly and wrapped his arms around Nick’s waist in return.

“I’m so sorry,” Nick whispered. Monroe just shook his head and tightened his grip. 


	2. Chapter 2

Four days after that night at Monroe’s, Nick was standing, hands on his hips, surveying another blackened ruin—this one had been a small grocery store. The smell of dämonfeuer was still strong in the air—the building had burned hot enough to collapse the outer walls of the store, so Nick was standing in the open air on the edge of the scene.

He sighed, then startled slightly when he looked over and noticed Monroe standing at his elbow, looking both his usual fire-scene sooty and a tad exhausted. The firefighter gave him a small smile and said, “No closer to any leads?”

“No,” Nick admitted, inwardly marveling at Monroe’s apparent ability to move near silently through rubble. “Though the victims from this one were dead before they burned. You guys put it out fast enough to see the…” he gestured vaguely toward his throat. “The damage.”

Monroe made a disgusted face. “Lovely.” He stepped slightly closer, the heavy fabric of his protective gear brushing against Nick’s leather jacket. Nick glanced down and fought off a smile. _No giddiness at crime scenes_ , he reminded himself. It was blatantly unprofessional, no matter how hard it was to fight his growing attraction for Monroe.

“I didn’t realize you were the responding team,” he said after they stood for a moment in silence, and Monroe shrugged.

“We’re actually not—the station that was supposed to respond to this one was out on another call.” Monroe stuck his hands in the pockets of his soot-streaked pants. “General consensus among the higher-ups is that this arsonist is—maybe unintentionally, maybe not—putting the idea of ‘fire’ in the heads of the more violence-inclined idiots around this town. There’ve been a bunch of copycat fires and we’re all running a little ragged.” He shrugged again. “None of the other fires have been covering up murders, though.”

Nick looked at him, concerned, inspecting the bags under Monroe’s eyes more closely. “You doing okay?”

Monroe flashed him a ghost of a smile. “I wouldn’t mind a nice, heavy rain, I can tell you that. I can’t imagine how difficult fighting fires must be in drier climates.” Nick nodded in agreement, and they settled into silence again, watching Hap and another two firefighters poke around across the ruin, checking for embers. They were avoiding the medical team loading up the two blackened bodies, and Nick didn’t blame them.

“Do you think—” he started to ask, gesturing toward the body bags, and Monroe nodded his head, already ahead of him.

“They’re probably the owners, the Greliebs. They’re kinda pigeon-y.” He looked sad. “I shopped here.”

“Shit, Monroe, I’m sorry—”

Monroe cut him off with sharp shake of his head. “You guys need to catch this guy. This isn’t—” He stopped speaking and took a deep breath through his nose.

Nick turned to him and touched his arm, grasping tight enough that he could feel Monroe’s muscles through the heavy protective jacket. “We’re gonna catch him, I promise you.” He hesitated a split second, then added, “There haven’t been any kids—none at all, in any of the fires. I thought you might… just, you might want to know.”

“That. That’s good,” Monroe said distantly. “Thanks.” They stood in silence for a minute, thinking gloomy thoughts, and Nick found himself drifting back to that night earlier in the week at Monroe’s—they hadn’t really talked since then, (though there’d been a few short exchanges of texts) and though nothing had happened, other than that lingering, emotional hug, Nick was fairly sure it was going to fall to him to clear the air.

He liked Monroe more than he wanted to admit, especially as they’d only known each other for a handful of weeks. But he felt drawn to him, despite the differences in their species and backgrounds and the fact that they both risked their lives on a daily basis.

All in all, attempting a relationship with Monroe was quite possibly the worst idea Nick had ever had. That, however, didn’t change the fact that he was running toward it, arms out and eyes open. And seeing Monroe like this, all morose and introspective, was something Nick would like very much to change.

He rocked slightly toward Monroe, bumping their shoulders together, and Monroe glanced at him, a small smile growing on his face. Nick shuffled his feet and smirked back at Monroe, who immediately blushed slightly (Nick would bet fifty bucks that he’d been thinking about that hug, too) and glanced at the ground. Nick sighed good-naturedly.

“Right, this is pretty terribly inappropriate, but—” he grimaced, turning to address the ruin instead of Monroe, because this was really easier to say when not looking directly at Monroe’s inquisitive face. “Are you gay? I don’t have the best gaydar for someone who’s mostly, you know. Interested in cock. And with firefighters and cops, if we are, we’re generally kinda closeted…” He glanced over, preparing to dodge a punch (what, it had happened before) or make a quick disclaimer, but Monroe was now just staring at him, mouth slightly open.

“Did you seriously just ask me if I’m gay at a murder slash arson scene?” Monroe asked, incredulous.

Nick opened his mouth, then closed it and scrubbed his hand through his hair before venturing, “Yes? It broke the despair spiral, didn’t it?”

Monroe burst out laughing, earning the two of them several shocked reactions from various personnel around the scene. Hap in particular gave them a long, considering look, and Nick smiled in his direction, giving Monroe a moment to pull himself together. It took Monroe a good minute to compose himself enough to giggle out, “Yea, Nick, it did, but _jeez_ , your _social skills_ …”

Nodding, Nick watched as Monroe wiped mirth from his eyes (he mostly just managed to smear more soot around his face) and finally prodded, “Well?”

With another snort of laughter, Monroe stuck his hands back in his pockets. “I’m equal-opportunity, but I pick women more often.” Nick had exactly five seconds to fight the sinking feeling in his chest before Monroe added, with a look that could only be described as a leer, “Though, for the right dark-haired cop I just might be convinced to break my streak of girlfriends.” He gave Nick a pointed once-over.

“Okay, good to know,” Nick said, relieved and unable to fight the blush he could feel crawling its way up his neck. “Just so, you know, _I’ll_ know that you won’t punch me if I accidentally flirt with you.” 

Monroe straightened up, smiling more broadly (and a hint more predatorily) in Nick’s direction. “Accidentally?”

Nick twitched his lips, hiding his own grin, though he was sure he was red up to his eyebrows. “Well…”

With a roll of his eyes, Monroe smacked him on the shoulder. Nick looked down, sighing at the ashy handprint on his shoulder, but Monroe just cocked an insolent eyebrow and said, “I’ve gotta go wrangle my men. I’ll see you around, Nick.” And with a wink, he was gone.

Nick watched him go with a lingering smile on his face, and didn’t even flinch when Hank materialized next to him a moment later and punched him in the shoulder.

“What was that?” he asked, delighted, and Nick shrugged, finally fighting down his blush.

“I just ascertained the fact that he’s. Amenable. You know. To, eh…”

“Oh he _is,_ is he?” Hank teased him with a grin. “Hey, man. I’m happy that you’re happy. God knows you deserve it.” He grinned, then added, “Trust you to pick the most dysfunctional relationship possible to go after, though. And the worst possible timing, man…”

Nick rounded on his partner as they picked their way back to their car. “Me? Dysfunctional? Coming from Mister Married Four Times…” He pulled open the passenger side door and glanced back out over the scene, settling his eyes on Monroe’s distinctive silhouette. He raised a hand in goodbye, and a moment later, Monroe raised his hand, too. Nick smiled, completely tuning out Hank’s huffed response—something about being eaten by wolves.

~~~

“Holy shit,” Hank exclaimed. Nick snapped his head up—his partner was standing over a computer being manned by a grinning Sergeant Wu. It was three days since the last fire, and they were just as lost as ever.

“Nick, come here, I think we’ve got something,” Wu called. “Looks like this asshole finally screwed up.”

“Seriously?” Nick said, dropping the profile their guy at the station had come up with (it was entirely useless—Nick was fairly certain they were looking for another grimm, which of course hadn’t been included in the profile) and practically running to Wu’s computer. “What is it?”

Wu leaned back from his computer to give Nick some space to squeeze in next to them and double clicked a file on his screen. “It’s from the gas station across the street,” he explained, as a grainy black and white video popped up. There were a few seconds of an empty street past the pumps, then a blurry figure walked past the scene—what appeared to be a man in a long, black trench coat. He was carrying what looked like a doctor’s bag, and disappeared off the screen in the direction of what had been the grocery store. Nick’s stomach flipped.

“Holy shit, is that our guy?” He tightened his fingers on the back of Wu’s chair, excited, and glanced at Hank, who was also watching the screen intently.

Wu nodded carefully. “I mean, it doesn’t actually prove that he was going there, but the time checks out, and that bag is big enough to hold some accelerants…” he trailed off and looked at the two detectives. “What do you guys think?”

“I think it means we get a fucking APB on this asshole,” Hank breathed. “Send the video to IT, see if they can clean it up a little or get us a better picture.” He smacked Wu on the shoulder. “Good work.”

Wu grinned. “Only took about three days of skimming security footage.” He pointed at them. “You guys owe me a donut.”

“We can do that,” Nick promised over his shoulder as he jogged back to his desk. After a moment, Hank joined him, still smiling.

“This could be good,” he said, curious as he watched Nick pull out his phone. “What are you doing?”

“Calling Monroe,” Nick answered, distracted as he scrolled through his contacts. “Letting him know about our lead, he can spread the word to the wesen community.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down,” Hank ordered, and plucked Nick’s phone from his hands. “We’re not sure about this—you think bringing the wolves in on this guy is a good idea?”

Nick turned to his partner, a little shocked and defensive (and a bit irrationally upset on Monroe’s behalf that Hank had reduced him to the label of ‘wolf’) and snapped, “He can help!”

“He’s not a cop,” Hank countered. “He’s not your CI, and he’s not technically involved in this case, other than putting out the flames.” He frowned at Nick. “Do you not realize that you’re putting him in danger?”

Mouth already half open to argue, Nick froze. He _hadn’t_ thought about that, not really, but—He sank down to his desk chair and scrubbed his hands through his hair. This murderous, arsonist _fucker_ was targeting wesen. Not violent wesen, not dangerous wesen, just everyday people who’d never done anyone harm (and also some that had probably done harm, but the point remained). It hadn’t even occurred to him that involving Monroe might result in something bad happening to him.

“He’s…” Nick tried, weakly, and Hank nodded understandingly.

“He’s more than competent,” he finished for Nick. “And runs into burning buildings for a living, which automatically makes his sanity a little suspect, and didn’t disappear when he found out what you are, which, from what I’ve gathered, is rare.” Nick nodded miserably. Hank smiled. “What I’m trying to say, man, is that I think you should be careful about how closely you get him involved. You don’t want something to happen to him because he isn’t trained for this sort of thing.”

“No. Okay, purely professional,” Nick conceded, but then shook his head. “I still should call him, give him at least a preliminary description of the guy. If he gets the word out, it might save lives. Put people on more of an alert.”

Hank nodded, agreeing. “Yea, you’re right. More eyes that know what they’re looking for would be helpful.” He slid Nick’s phone across their desks, but Nick didn’t pick it up. He was thinking, flicking through what he knew about Monroe, balanced with what he was sure was mutual attraction on both their parts. He was coming up worried.

(And he was fully aware that it was a bit Not Good that he was more worried about a single person than about the populous of Portland in general, but he was human, so he couldn’t really fight that. And if something he did put Monroe on this psycho’s radar, he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. At the same time, he wholeheartedly wanted to see Monroe out of a more professional setting, so… it was difficult.)

“I’ll call him and tell him,” he decided, and picked up his phone, scrolling through his contacts.

“Professional,” Hank reminded him, and Nick waved him away. Hank nodded once more and wandered off, probably to harass Wu and IT about a cleaned up version of the video.

Three rings, then the sound of something scraping and a hint of static, then a sleepy, “ _’lo?_ ”

“Monroe?” There was a yawn from the other end of the line, and Nick frowned and checked the clock—it was three in the afternoon. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“ _Nah, no worries. It’s been a long couple days, is all. And I’m at the station, so I might have to go if we get a fire._ ” Monroe’s voice turned sheepish. “ _I zonked out at the kitchen table, actually, so I should be thanking you for waking me up. I should be doing paperwork._ ” There was another yawn, then Monroe asked, “ _So to what do I owe the pleasure?_ ”

Nick grinned into his phone, picturing a sleep-tousled Monroe, and then had to forcibly get himself back on track. “Okay. Um.” Nick tapped his pen against his desk. “I’ve got news, actually.” Monroe hummed inquiringly and Nick smiled. “We’ve finally got a rough idea of the murderer—we found some security footage from the building across from the last scene. We’re looking for a sixish foot Caucasian male, around two hundred pounds, muscled. The footage was black and white, but he had light hair. We’re trying to clean it up and get a better estimate on height and whatnot, so I’ll let you know if we do.”

“ _That’s great,_ ” Monroe said, suddenly sounding significantly more awake. “ _I’ll pass the word on—you’ve got a whole untapped spy network, you know, of people willing to keep an eye out for you. It’s amazing what a bunch of busy-bodies we can be when we put our minds to it._ ” There was a pause, then Monroe added, “ _You know, we really appreciate this, how hard you’re working to catch this guy. Most… people of your background… wouldn’t, you know._ ”

Nick grinned wider, aware that he was blushing slightly. “I’m not like most people of my background.” Monroe chuckled, low, and Nick had a fleeting thought that he’d like to hear Monroe laugh like that more often—and maybe even in a more intimate setting. 

“ _I’m beginning to believe you_ ,” Monroe murmured, and Nick blinked, caught off guard by the low heat that suddenly sprang to existence in his stomach. He swallowed. Monroe was very good at bringing this reaction out in him.  

“ _I’ll get people on that right away,_ ” Monroe promised. “ _Right, well, I guess I’ll see you around, Nick. Unless there’s something else…?_ ” Nick had an inner flail of Want, and so utterly ignoring everything he and Hank had literally just talked about, squeaked out something that may have been a ‘wait.’ On the other end of the line, Monroe chuckled again. “ _Yea?_ ”

Nick tilted back in his chair and inspected the ceiling. “So, you know how I’m wildly inappropriate sometimes?”

“ _I seem to remember something along those lines, yea_ ,” Monroe said, sounding amused. “ _Something about asking on my sexual orientation at a crime scene…_ ”

“Yea, I’m just good like that,” Nick said solemnly, and drummed his fingers on his leg. “So, um. In the spirit of awkwardness, this is _obviously_ the best time to ask you this—um.” He laughed a little nervously, then forced out in a rush: “I was wondering—well, I can’t cook to save my life, but I’d like to take you out, thank you for everything you’ve been doing.” He closed his eyes, because that had been unnecessarily vague. “Shit. I mean, I don’t want to be half-assed about it. I’d like to take you out on a date. If that’s, you know. Okay.”

There was a beat of silence, then Monroe said, the smile evident in his voice, “ _You really are all about upsetting the status quo, aren’t you?_ ”

“I do enjoy making things interesting.” Nick leaned forward in his chair and looked down at his desk, mostly to hide the rising blush on his face from the rest of the precinct.

Monroe sighed good-naturedly, then said, “ _Man, Hap’s gonna kill me. But yea, Nick, I’d like that._ ” His voice turned a touch concerned for a moment. “ _You’re not too busy with the case…?_ ”

“Well,” Nick hedged, “it might have to be a short date. But—” he realized he was blushing harder as his traitorous mouth attempted something resembling suavity, “—if I let being busy on a case stop me from asking a, quite frankly, gorgeous guy out on a date, I’d never date.”

“ _You ask lots of ‘quite frankly gorgeous guys’ out on dates?_ ” Monroe asked, all innocence, and Nick face-palmed.

“No, I. Shit.” He struggled for words for a moment. “I actually haven’t been doing much on the dating scene recently, um… fuck. That’s what I get for trying to be smooth.”

Monroe laughed, tinny in Nick’s phone speaker. “ _Relax man, I’m just giving you shit. When and where? I’ll be off and caught up on sleep by Friday._ ”

Nick grinned again, a little more sure-footed. “Friday should be good for me, unless something drastic happens. How about seven? I could pick you up. Do you like Indian?”

“ _Seven is perfect and I love Indian._ ”

“Good, cool,” Nick breathed. “I’ll see you then. Wait, I mean, give me a call if anyone sees anything, yea?”

“ _Sure, Nick. I’ll let you know. And see you Friday._ ” And for the first time, Monroe sounded a little shy when he added, “ _I’m looking forward to it_.”

When Nick hung up, he was grinning from ear to ear. He felt a little bad, sure, about being so happy with such an unsettling case hanging over his head, but well, Monroe was pretty awesome. So it balanced out.

Of course, Hank then chose that moment to reappear at his elbow and flick him in the ear. “Burkhardt, what did we _just_ talk about?”

Nick rubbed his ear and glared up at his partner. “What? I just passed word on to—”

“No,” Hank interrupted, and pointed at Nick’s mouth. “ _That_ shit-eating grin is not the grin of a man who ‘just passed word on.’ That is the grin of a man about to get laid.”

“Monroe’s an adult, and better capable of taking care of himself than most,” Nick argued, defensive because he knew he shouldn’t be pursuing this thing with Monroe, at least not right now, and he was doing it anyway. “And… and I’m not going to not date him because I’m worried that someone _might_ be annoyed with me. Or him. Or…” Nick sighed.

“Look. I like him, so I asked him out. It might be dumb, but you know, he might be _safer_ with me around than he would be if I ignored him. This way, I can keep eyes on him and make sure he doesn’t get hurt, and we can work together—which is helpful, because he apparently has lots of contacts in the wesen community, and it might. _Might_. Be a little more dangerous for everyone involved, but we’re also more likely to catch the fucker if Monroe’s on our side.”

He looked up at Hank, eyes wide. “I’m not being… purely… selfish.”

Hank sighed. “It’s not that I’m not happy for you, because I am. Just—” he held up his hands, pleading. “Please be careful, man.”

Nick smiled. “I will be.”

~~~

Nick floated through the rest of his week. He followed up on leads and worked long hours, of course, but in the back of his mind he was counting down to Friday evening. He had his outfit picked out on Tuesday, he was that excited.

So it was slightly surprising when Friday evening rolled around and midway through getting ready, Nick’s doorbell rang. He glanced at the clock—it was just barely six, so it wouldn’t be Monroe for any reason. Besides, he was supposed to pick Monroe up, not the other way around.

Nick clattered down his stairs and glanced out the doorside window before opening up, brow furrowing in confusion when he realized that it was Hap, standing uncomfortably on his porch with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Hey…?” Nick said as he pulled the door open. Hap frowned at him.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Yea, sure,” Nick said, gesturing him in. Hap strode past him, glancing around at Nick’s rather Spartan style of decorating, and stopped, crossing his arms and glaring in Nick’s direction. Privately, Nick thought that Hap’s face was one much more accustomed to smiling, so the glare wasn’t particularly intimidating. He blinked. “Sorry, are you… angry? At me?”

“I,” Hap announced, “am…” he sighed and dropped his arms. “Okay man, look. Monroe’s, like, the closest thing I have to a brother anymore. He told me that he told you about when we were kids…” he waved off Nick’s concerned face and plowed on: “and so I needed to come and have it out. Sorta. You know.”

Nick nodded (he didn’t know, actually, but Hap appeared to be on a roll, and Nick didn’t really have the heart to interrupt him). He hadn’t talked much to Hap, but got the impression from Monroe that they were close. He actually had more than one lengthy text conversations concerning the man currently shuffling his feet nervously in his entryway—usually half-hearted complaints about how Hap was currently breaking their self-imposed vegetarianism to have a pulled pork sandwich.

So Nick didn’t want to offend Hap, or worse, piss him off, (even if Monroe had suggested that Hap was near incapable of being pissed off) because the last thing Nick needed was his potential boyfriend being scared away because he couldn’t get along with his friends.

Hap glared around Nick’s front hall and took a breath. “So despite the fact that I’m a little terrified of you—‘cause, you know, _grimm_ —I want you to know that if you hurt him—” and here Hap cut himself off and attempted another glare.

_Oh_. Nick couldn’t help the smile, because really? He could count on one hand how many of these speeches he’s been on the receiving end of, and this one? Was adorable.

“I’m choosing to believe my man Monroe,” Hap went on, “‘cause he usually knows what he’s on about, and he doesn’t think you’re all evil like… like other grimms.” He took a step forward and pointed at Nick. “But if I find out that you’re, like, _playing_ him or something, if this is some twisted _thing_ —well. I don’t know what I’ll do about it. But no one in our station will be happy, and like, most of us are wesen, so.” He looked a little unsure. “Watch it?”

“Hap!” Nick interrupted, because _really,_ there are some things that need to be addressed, and he didn’t want Hap or anyone else thinking he had less than innocent (…well) intentions on Monroe. “This is _not_ some twisted thing. I like him. I think he likes me. I want to see if we could… be good? That’s all.”

Hap nodded slowly. “Okay, man.”

“Okay,” Nick agreed. Hap stared at him for a moment, then suddenly smiled and stepped forward, clapping Nick on the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger. Nick blinked, startled, and righted himself. “Uh…”

“Awesome, man. We should get together sometime, the three of us.” He pointed at Nick, suddenly serious again. “Don’t fuck him around. He’s a good guy.” And then with another grin, Hap headed out the door. “See ya later, Nick.”

Nick stared after him, even when the door had already shut, because that was quite possibly the most mood-swinging-est warning from family he’d ever been on the receiving end of ever. Eventually though, he shook himself back to reality and headed back upstairs to finish getting ready.

~~~

Nick was halfway out the door, just zipping his jacket up, when his phone rang. Juggling his keys, he answered after registering on the caller ID that it was Monroe.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“ _Nick, hey, look I’m sorry, but…_ ”

Nick stopped struggling with his jacket. “You’re cancelling?”

“ _I know, this is like, extremely bad etiquette, but the Lieutenant on my opposite shift broke his freaking leg a couple hours ago and now there’s this huge fuckin’ building going up near the forest and…_ ”

“No,” Nick said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “I understand, really.” And he did—after all, he was no stranger to sudden calls interrupting dates. “We can reschedule if you want.”

From the other end of the line, Nick could make out a fabric-y sort of rustling—likely Monroe changing into his turnout gear. A moment later he said, a little breathless, “ _Look, there’s all this bureaucratic bullshit about having a Lieutenant on site, but since I’ve worked like, eighty hours this week I’m not actually allowed **in** the building, so basically what I’m saying is you should meet me there and we can go out after, if you want._ ”

Nick smiled into the phone. “I bet that’s not protocol.”

“ _Fuck protocol. I’ve been looking forward to this all week, and plus this way you get to see me in action, sorta._ ” Nick could hear the grin in Monroe’s voice when he added in a tone that could quite certainly be considered sultry, “ _I’ve been told I look quite nice in uniform._ ”

Nick grinned and picked his keys up again. “What’s the address?”

Monroe told him, and Nick headed out after promising to drive safe. It wasn’t a long drive, just fifteen minutes or so from his house, and he pulled up outside the barrier shortly after the firefighters had thrown it up. The fire hadn’t seemed to really gotten started yet—there were no open flames apparently on the four-storey brick and wood building, and Nick had a momentary thought that this might not take too long, after all.

He flashed his badge at one of the responding cops and was let through, heading directly for Monroe when he spotted him standing next to one of the two flashing trucks. There was a loose circle of firefighters surrounding him, and Monroe was talking quickly, loudly enough to be heard over the crackling flames.

“Hey,” Monroe said, flashing him a smile as Nick stopped next to him. “Gimme a sec, I’ve gotta coordinate the boys.” Nick stepped back, giving Monroe some room to talk to his men, and a moment later the circle dissolved, the firefighters headed toward the blaze in practiced movements. Hap gave a friendly wave to Nick before heading in, and Nick waved back, grinning.

“It’s not one of mine?” Nick asked as soon as Monroe turned to him, and Monroe shook his head.

“Don’t think so. I don’t smell dämonfeuer.” He eyed the fire. “It’s pretty small, actually. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or two.”

“It’s all good,” Nick said with a smile. He plucked at Monroe’s uniform jacket. He wasn’t wearing his usual heavy turnout gear this time, just a navy blue jacket over a white collared shirt with his Lieutenant insignia. “And I can’t say that the view’s hard on the eyes.”

Monroe shot him a playful smirk and then turned his attention to the building. There was an explosion of glass on one of the upstairs floors, and flames began to lick out the shattered window. Nick flinched, but Monroe just brought his radio up and ordered his men toward the worst of the fire.

After he received a crackled affirmative over the radio, he glanced back at Nick. “I’m sorry again for this. Jeff was fixing his roof and slipped, and our backups are at a conference in LA.”

“I said, it’s all good,” Nick chided, and bumped Monroe’s shoulder with his own. Monroe looked at him for a moment, then reached out and slid his hand into Nick’s, squeezing once before dropping it and turning back to the fire. Nick blushed, a little shocked and very happy, and turned to watch the firefighters’ progress with Monroe.

Half an hour later, things were calming down a little. According to Monroe’s radio, most of the flames were contained, and Monroe was just ordering a group—led by Hap—to start final sweeps when he broke off mid-sentence, sniffing.

“Do you smell that?” he asked Nick, who’d been inspecting the dials regulating water flow to the hoses. Nick turned, just registering Monroe’s pale face when all hell broke loose.

There was a huge explosion, rolling out from the second floor—one of the least damaged areas so far. Bricks and windows vaporized from the force of it, and the concussion slammed a few firefighters near the building into the ground. Nick and Monroe were knocked back into the side of the truck, and yea, _now_ Nick could smell it. Dämonfeuer.

“What the fuck?” Nick shouted over the ringing in his ears, but Monroe wasn’t paying attention to him past checking to make sure he was all right. Instead, he was simultaneously shouting into his radio (which Nick realized was terrifyingly silent) and pulling on his turnout gear, which he’d apparently had stored in the truck.

“Call your partner!” Monroe shouted as he shouldered on his breathing gear. “I’ll be fine, just…” He grabbed Nick’s hand again, squeezing reassuringly, then spun and disappeared into the building, followed by the couple firefighters who had been outside at the time of the explosion and weren’t dazed from being thrown to the ground.  

Nick stared after him, frozen, his ears ringing painfully. The fire that was currently tearing through the second floor was so bright it burned white, and there was a low roar that took Nick a moment to place—it was the sound of water in the foundations of the building evaporating. Nick had never heard a noise like it; it sounded alive, and malicious.

Swallowing, Nick pulled out his phone and hit the speed-dial for Hank. He answered on the second ring, something about how Nick was supposed to be off tonight, but Nick interrupted him.

“Our guy just blew up a building,” he said breathlessly. He gave Hank the address and Hank gave him an ETA of fifteen minutes. “Hurry,” Nick ordered. He hung up and turned back to the fire, watching nervously. The other truck (the one that wasn’t Monroe’s) had their hoses on, concentrating on the wreck of the second floor. The radio that Monroe had dropped when he had bolted inside was still nerve-wrenchingly silent.

For long moments (Nick lost all sensation of time—it could have been thirty seconds or thirty minutes) there was no sound on the scene other than the crackling of flames and the groan of the building. Even the firefighters on the other truck were silent, concentrating on doing anything to help their brothers in the building.

There was an escalation in the building’s creaking and Nick watched in horror as the ceiling began to cave in. He tensed, looking for any sign of the firefighters, of Monroe, or Hap, or any-freaking-body, but there was nothing, nothing—

Suddenly, Nick spotted movement on the third floor; the other firefighters apparently had, too, as there was a revving of one of the truck’s engines and it moved closer, the ladder on top swinging into action. Nick watched, his breath catching in his throat, as a fireman nimbly climbed the ladder and held out a hand through a smashed window to help someone out.

The first men out were clearly injured; one had a blackened bandage over his face, but Nick could see the red of his blood through the grime. The second and third were cradling their arms—either dislocated or broken—and they moved stiffly, probably having been hit by the brunt of the explosion.

There was a pause and then Monroe appeared, carrying a man slung over his shoulder. He transferred him to a waiting firefighter, who picked his way carefully down the ladder, and Monroe disappeared back inside.

There were more tense minutes of non-action, then Monroe appeared again, this time supporting someone with his arms looped around his waist. They were followed closely by three more firefighters, and if Nick remembered correctly, that was it.

Nick was so caught up in watching their descent down the ladder that he didn’t notice when Hank stepped up to his side, and jumped when he put a hand on his shoulder. They stood in silence as the remaining firefighters pulled back from the scene, and Nick finally let out a pained breath when the last one put feet on the ground; just in time, too—behind the trucks, the building let out a last grumble of protest and collapsed.

“Hey,” Hank said, breaking through the pounding of Nick’s blood in his ears. That had been frighteningly close. Hank forced a smile. “Thought you were supposed to be on a date tonight, man. You don’t seem to know the meaning of a night off.”

“Yea, well,” Nick said miserably, gesturing to the firefighters gathered around a waiting ambulance. “I doubt Monroe will be up for date night after this.” He glowered, focusing, in cop-mode. “It was a fucking booby-trap, Hank. The fucker must have set it to go off when he knew the firefighters would already be inside.” Frowning, he added, “I bet he knew that most of Monroe’s house are wesen. It makes sense that he’d try some shit like this.”

“Maybe,” Hank allowed, then gently asked, “Could it have been a copycat?”

Nick shook his head. “No. Even I can smell the dämonfeuer essence.”

“Well shit,” Hank said, and scrubbed his hand over his eyes. “Looks like I’m in for a long night.”

“We’re in for a long night,” Nick corrected absently, bouncing slightly on his heels as he waited for Monroe to be cleared by a group of waiting EMTs. He knew he’d just get in the way if he went over now, but the wait was killing him.

“Hell no,” Hank ordered. “I can handle this, and Wu and Rodriguez are on their way. I bet Monroe will want to go to the hospital with his men—you should go with him.” Nick glanced at Hank, surprised, and Hank smiled reassuringly. “I got this,” Hank said, then nodded toward Monroe, who was now standing a small distance from the ambulances, looking dazed. “Go on.”

“Thanks, man,” Nick breathed, then headed over toward where Monroe was standing, staring after a departing ambulance. As it pulled away, it flicked on its lights and sirens and sped up. With a sinking feeling, Nick realized he couldn’t see Hap anywhere.

“Hey,” he called out, breaking into a jog. “Monroe…”

Monroe looked up, stunned. “Nick. Sorry, I…” he looked back down the road to where the ambulance was disappearing around a corner. “It’s Hap,” he said flatly, and Nick closed his eyes, touching lightly at Monroe’s shoulder, ignoring the soot and debris on his jacket.

“Is he…?”

Monroe shrugged. “He was knocked out, burned.” He made a pained face. “He protected the others, knocked them out of the way when he smelled the trap.” With a dry swallow, he added, “I think he’ll live. Hap’s a tenacious bastard.”

Nick searched his face, worried, then glanced back at Hank, who made a shooing gesture with his hands. Nick turned back to Monroe. “Let’s go to the hospital. Hank can handle things here, and you should be there for Hap.” He forced a small smile. “You know that Hap stopped by earlier today and gave me a ‘Don’t hurt him’ warning?”

This got Monroe’s attention. He looked at Nick, a very small smile crooked on his face. “Did he?” he asked fondly. “What a dork.” He looked down at the ground, then grabbed Nick’s hands—Nick tightened his grip, squeezing back reassuringly. “I need to shower,” Monroe said softly, “and change. Follow me back to the station, then we can go to the hospital, okay?” He blinked. “I mean, if you want.”

“I want,” Nick confirmed. “Let me tell Hank.” He turned to do that, but Monroe didn’t let go of his hands.

“Not how I pictured a first date going,” he said softly, but Nick just smiled at him.

“You’re a firefighter and I’m a cop. I think we are both perfectly aware of the dangers of our chosen professions.” Monroe smiled back at him, and finally dropped his hands. Nick lingered a moment longer regardless, then turned to find Hank.

~~~

Six hours later found Monroe and Nick drinking cups of over-roasted coffee in the hospital’s cafeteria. Hap was sleeping (bandaged and sedated, but very much alive) in his room upstairs, and the doctors had promised that barring infection, he’d be able to leave in a couple days. The other firefighters who’d been injured had all been outpatients, save for one who’d taken a support beam to his face—he was staying overnight.

No one had died, and Nick was personally taking that as a bit of a win, considering who they were up against.

Nick hadn’t bothered with platitudes of ‘we’ll catch this guy;’ Monroe was perfectly aware of hard the police force was looking for the arsonist, and Nick had already voiced concerns that it was a grimm stalking the wesen population—a sentiment Monroe had wholeheartedly agreed with.

Instead of focusing on the night’s stressful events, Nick was trying to distract Monroe with stories about some of the more ridiculous things he’d handled since coming into his grimm heritage. There’d been the thing with the rabbit-wesen, and the overflowing number of pies from Bud and his wife, the time the butterfly-wesen had licked his ear…

Monroe, in return, told him stories about working with a mostly wesen firefighting crew. They had three salamander-y type wesen (who apparently had thick skins and were exceptionally suited for firefighting, but were not very bright), two dickfelligs (whose strength and thick skin likewise made them good firefighters), a wildermann, and four blutbaden, including himself and Hap. There were also four humans, and like Hank, they all knew about wesen. Monroe spoke highly of them—apparently they were the peacekeepers of the station.

“It’s necessary,” he said with a wry smile. “We’ve all got pretty intense personalities, but I wouldn’t trade my brigade for anyone else. They’re my family, as dysfunctional as we might be some of the time.”

They settled into a comfortable silence, sipping their coffee. The adrenaline of the day had long since dissipated, and they were both tired.

Suddenly, Monroe said, “You know, I asked around about you, when I was doing some of that research.” He glanced at Nick, who was watching him with interest.

“Yea?” What’d you find out?”

Monroe smiled. “Just that you’re fair and not a murderous monster.”

Nick grinned back at him. “That’s good. Glad people aren’t spreading rumors…”

With a nod, Monroe added softly, “You’ve apparently been getting a reputation for being a decent guy.” He smiled into his coffee, then said, “The thing with that reinigen kid? That was—good, Nick. Really good of you. And you didn’t go after the jagerbar kid, even though he attacked you.”

“He was just a kid,” Nick said, a touch defensively. “And he’d been led wrong, he wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s what I mean,” Monroe said. “It’s just. It’s good. You’re good.” He blushed slightly. “I wouldn’t have agreed to go on a date with you if you’d had a different sort of reputation.”

“Well then,” Nick said, and reached across the table, tangling their fingers and smiling when Monroe covered their hands with his free one, “I’m glad my reputation preceded me.”

~~~

Across the street from the hospital cafeteria, a man sat at a poorly-lit bus stop. He was wrapped in a black trench coat and a battered doctor’s bag rested at his feet. He ran a weathered hand through his pale blonde hair and watched through the window as his fellow grimm laughed at something the blutbad filth said. The thought that _this man_ was a grimm turned his stomach, but it was true, regardless.

In the warmth of the cafeteria, the grimm leaned forward and tangled his fingers with the blutbad’s. The man narrowed his eyes and curled his lip—he’d entertained the idea that the grimm was merely getting close to the blutbad to easier dispatch him, but based on the blush and, frankly, goofy smile on the grimm’s face, that clearly wasn’t the case.

The man stood abruptly and strode away from his bench. Something would need to be done about this. Something suitable for the crime. He would need a plan. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Nothing?” Renard asked again, a frown creasing his forehead. “Three solid months of fires, then just… nothing?” He glanced at the calendar on his desk, as if confirming that it had in fact been almost four weeks since the last fire. Considering their murderous arsonist had been killing and burning buildings on an average of once every three days, this was saying a great deal. 

“We don’t understand it, either, sir,” Hank said, leaning against the wall of Renard’s office. Nick was flipping through the thick case file that cataloged each fire, simmering low with a sort of quiet anger that he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before. 

Of course it was good if the fires (and by extension, the murders) stopped, but—

But they hadn’t caught the fucker. They hadn’t caught the bastard who’d been killing people and burning their bodies up, the person who had brought all that shit to the forefront of Monroe’s mind, the man who’d hurt Hap, and that was just. _Infuriating._

Nick may have been aware that he was a tad too invested, angry on behalf of a man he’d only known for a few weeks, someone who shouldn’t technically mean _that_ much to him, not yet. But he liked Monroe, liked him a lot, and the fact that Nick (and Hank, and the rest of the team, of course) hadn’t been able to catch this fucker—it just sat wrong. 

“We’re missing something,” Nick said, slapping the file down on Renard’s desk. “Were there any other serial arson cases in other cities that match this guy's MO? Anywhere?” 

“I’ll look into it,” Wu offered, then scurried out of the office and off to his desk. 

Renard watched him go, then turned to Hank and Nick with a serious expression on his face. “Right. Well barring further developments…”

Nick glowered—he knew the look on Renard's face, and wasn't thrilled about what it meant for the case. He spluttered, “We’re not just letting this fucker _go_ , sir, come on—”

“Burkhardt.” Renard ordered, his voice quiet. Nick snapped his mouth shut and fidgeted slightly; Hank dropped a steadying hand on his shoulder. Shaking his head, Renard leaned forward onto his desk and sighed, “We need to let it go for now. We're not dropping it, not yet. But there are other things that need to be handled, end of story.” He held up a hand, forestalling any arguments. “I'm not any happier about it than you are, but what is, is.” 

Nick breathed out heavily through his nose. “Right.” He picked the folder up again and tapped it against his open palm. “Can I have your permission to work the case from home in whatever free time I have? I'll make copies of the files—I won't need the originals or anything.” 

Renard regarded him for a moment, then said, “Fine, just—just be careful. We don't know if this guy is gone or if he is just hanging back and watching. It could still be dangerous.” 

“Fair enough,” Nick said. “I'll be careful.” With a curt nod, Renard dismissed them. Nick and Hank turned and left his office, heads together. 

“You want me to come over tonight?” Hank asked as they plopped down at their desks. “We can sit down and look at it—maybe a change of scenery will get us thinking up some new leads.” 

Nick opened his mouth, blushed, and shook his head. “Uh, not tonight.” He made a vague gesture out one of the windows, and Hank raised an eyebrow. “I've actually got—“ 

Understanding dawned in Hank's eyes. “Monroe?” 

“He's making me dinner.” Nick's sheepish smile turned slightly goofy. “I've been looking forward to this all week. We haven't had an easy time getting together over the last month, what with Hap getting out of the hospital and all this psycho fire shit...” 

Hank nodded. “Hap still staying with him?”

“For another few days,” Nick said. “His PT is going well, though, and blutbaden heal crazily fast so the burns he got are almost gone. I think he freaked his doctors out at the hospital, to be honest.” 

“Understandable,” Hank said sagely. “Well, I won't bother you tonight, then.” He glanced at the clock on his computer. “You know what? It's almost five already—I'll sort through some of these backlogged files and we can get started on them tomorrow. You go home, get ready.” 

“Seriously?” Nick asked, a grin growing on his face. “That'd be great, man, thanks.” 

Hank waved him off, smiling genially. “No problem, Nick. Just remember this next time I've got a date, yea?” 

Nick promised, grinning wider, and left Hank staring with a resigned look on his face at a pile of folders on his desk. 

~~~

Nick couldn't help but smile to himself as he headed for Monroe's. As frustrating as this case was, there was a silver lining: without it, he wouldn't have met Monroe. Nick was still vaguely guilty about how happy he was in the man's presence (he pointedly wasn't calling him his boyfriend yet—he didn't want to curse it) but as their relationship progressed, the guilt was lessening. 

A couple weeks ago—right before Hap was released from the hospital—they'd overcome a mutual bout of nerves about the nature of their relationship—namely that they technically weren't the same species and were in fact supposed to be at one another's throats, rather than thinking about getting in one another's pants. But they'd talked it out, Nick giggling something about the lion bedding the lamb (Monroe had huffed and said it was much more like a nightmare bedding the monster under the bed). 

And after that little conversation, they'd shared their first kiss, a gesture that'd left Nick weak in the knees, all thoughts of propriety and ancient feuds entirely eradicated. 

Plus on top of the (admittedly) powerful physical attraction, Monroe was quirky and hilarious, with a passion for exotic coffees and an obsession with antique cuckoo clocks. He could cook, was devoted to his friends, and had a quiet power about him that Nick couldn't get enough of. So despite only dating for about month, Nick was fairly sure that (if he was being perfectly honest) he was beyond smitten. 

Not that they'd really done much besides a few stolen kisses; he and Monroe had snuck several dinner or lunch dates and texted each other just about constantly, but it was a little difficult to advance the physical side of the relationship with a convalescing blutbad sprawled out on Monroe's couch. But now Hap was feeling better, so Nick had been holding out hope that he could convince Monroe to actually go out tonight after dinner. 

Nick pulled up to Monroe's house and threw the truck in park, bounding out and clutching a bottle of red—Monroe'd requested Zin and Nick had spent almost an hour picking out the right one at a tiny organic store yesterday. (Again: slightly invested.) 

The door opened before Nick was even the whole way up the stairs. Hap grinned at him, his face shiny and pink with healing skin. “Nicolas, my man!” 

“Hey Hap, feeling better?” 

Hap nodded sagely. “For sure, man, for sure. Monroe let me take a fuckin' shower by myself today. Apparently I can be trusted not to slip and brain myself once again.” 

Nick grinned and slid past Hap into the front entrance. “Baby steps, Hap.” He looked around. “Is Monroe...?” 

“In the kitchen.” Hap jerked a thumb in down the hall. “He's been unbelievable today, Nick. You gotta, ugh. Just, suck his dick or something, calm him down.” 

Nick valiantly tried not to choke on air at this statement and nodded to Hap. “Um. I'll just—”

“Yea, yea,” Hap waved him off. “Lemme know when food's ready, 'kay?” 

“Will do.” Nick gave him a pat on his back (on a spot he knew wasn't burned) and headed into the kitchen, pausing for a moment to take in the view before announcing his presence. Monroe had his back to the entryway and was fussing with something steaming on the stove. He was humming quietly to himself, and Nick felt a now-familiar lurch in his stomach—a mixed-up something of want and happiness and safety. He swallowed and cleared his throat. 

“Hey, Nick,” Monroe said, throwing a fond look over his shoulder. “I was wondering how long you were just going to stand there.” 

Nick smiled and blushed, caught. “Just enjoying the view. Are you making dinner?” he asked, sliding into the kitchen and depositing the wine on the table before wrapping his arms around Monroe’s shoulders. Monroe glanced again at him, then pointedly at the oven mitts on his hands and the sweet-smelling something that was boiling on the stovetop. He cocked an insolent eyebrow.

“No, Nick, the food I’m clearly preparing is not for our consumption. It’s for, I don’t know, the gnomes in the backyard.” 

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” Nick grinned into Monroe’s shoulder. “And please tell me there are no such things as gnomes.” 

“I believe that’s puns, actually,” Monroe retorted, and went back to stirring. Then contemplatively, he added, “And I don’t think they call themselves gnomes, but they’re about a foot tall, are bearded, and their traditional religious garb involves pointed hats.” 

“That’s cute,” Nick said, sliding his hand down slowly, coming to rest lightly on the small of Monroe’s back. 

“They’re poisonous,” Monroe offered, pretending like he hadn't noticed the hand movement, though Nick had clearly seen a small shudder ripple through his shoulders. “Necrotizing venom.” He pulled one of his oven mitts off with his teeth and, muffled, added, “Bitey little bastards.” 

Pained, Nick let his eyes drift shut for a moment too long to call it a blink. “Of course they are,” he sighed. “Because got forbid something wesen is harmless.”

Monroe turned to him, mouth curled into a smirk, and dropped a kiss on Nick’s forehead. “Have I ever mentioned that your naïveté is adorable?” 

“Only fifty or so times,” Nick told him with a grin, adjusting his grip to wrap tighter around Monroe's waist. Monroe looked down into his eyes and licked his lips. 

“Well... I'm telling you again,” he muttered. 

Nick lowered his lashes. “You know, there are some things I'm not naïve about at all.” Monroe swallowed, and when he responded, his voice was a tad deeper than usual, and slightly strangled. 

“Set the table?” 

Smirking, Nick moved away, careful to let his fingers linger against Monroe’s back for a split second longer. He didn’t miss the way Monroe’s eyes unfocused briefly, or the slightly too-sharp intake of breath. 

“Tease,” Monroe grumbled, then turned back to the stove. 

“Not a tease when you plan on following through on the threat,” Nick said easily, and began rummaging in the cupboards for place settings. There was a clatter as Monroe dropped something, then swore softly. Nick suppressed a laugh and laid out three places on the kitchen table. 

“Should I call Hap in?” he asked, and Monroe nodded distractedly, now easing what appeared to be a loaf of soda bread from the oven. Nick cocked his head, eying Monroe's ass for a moment before collecting Hap from his spot on the couch. 

“Seriously,” Hap groused loudly as he limped into the kitchen, apparently continuing his and Nick's conversation from earlier. “All week all I've heard is 'Nick does this' and 'Nick does that' and 'Did you know that Nick likes this random coffee' and 'Do you think Nick wants cake for dessert?' Good god, man, he's impossible.” He shot (a now glowering) Monroe a smug look, and Nick had to cover his mouth to fight off a laugh. 

“I'm not that bad,” Monroe protested while guiding Hap to sit, hovering like the overgrown vulture Hap had taken to calling him. 

“Well _I_ am,” Nick interjected, smiling at the gentle way Monroe treated his friend. “I think Hank may be committing a homicide of his own soon if I don't quit it.” He was pleased to see Monroe blush and duck his head before he brought the food to the table. 

Dinner progressed without a hitch, comfortable and pleasant. Hap regaled them with his stories of woe from physical therapy—he labeled his therapist a sadist, to which Nick and Monroe protested that if he was getting results, he shouldn't complain so much. 

Monroe talked about his latest shift at the firehouse—apparently a group of stoners had taken to disposing their cigarette butts in an old bucket, which had lit on fire and scorched half their apartment. Fortunately no one had been hurt, but they had been a group of intensely unhappy deadheads when they realized their pot had burned, along with their xbox and tv. 

And Nick eventually had to reluctantly tell them that he and Hank were coming up empty-handed when it came to their murderer/arsonist. 

“There haven't been any fires that match his MO since the one where you were hurt,” he told Hap. “We can't figure it—my only theory is that he was planning on that fire being his final one.” He shrugged. “Though based on his history, he wouldn't have seen that fire as a success. I mean, no one died.” 

“Which is of course a travesty,” Monroe said dryly, stabbing at his couscous with perhaps a touch too much force. 

Hap frowned. “Hey, man. I'm fine. So's everyone else.” 

“Still—” 

Nick placed a placating hand on his arm. “I know. But I gotta tell you guys, it's just that we have no idea what this guy's up to, so...” he trailed off and sighed. “I'm worried. My captain's ordered Hank and me to put this on the back burner for now, but I can't think that this guy's done. Not when he failed so extremely at the last fire.” He tightened his hand. “I just want you two to be careful.”

“You be careful, too,” Monroe ordered softly. 

Nick smirked. “Aren't I always?” 

Monroe and Hap both simultaneously snorted in derision, and the conversation moved on to lighter topics. 

~~~

Hap pulled Nick aside after dinner while Monroe busied himself putting away the meager leftovers and doing a quick clean-up. 

“Look, I feel bad,” Hap said softly, dragging Nick into the living room so they could talk in private. “Since I've been around the house, and you know, with the whole blutbaden heightened senses and whatnot, you guys haven't had a chance to get, you know, physical, because my man Monroe knows I'll be able to hear it and—”

Nick interrupted him hastily. “It's no problem, Hap. Seriously.” He smiled sheepishly. “It's actually—I don't usually take it slow like this. It's kinda making it more—I don't know. Special?” 

Hap looked at him like he was crazy. “Dude, Monroe wants you so bad even I can fucking taste it.” He pulled something from his pocket, a folded printout of of some sort. “Look, I called in a favor with this fuchsbau chick I know, got you guys a room at this hotel for the night.” He handed Nick the sheet of paper. “Reservations made, room service included, and I don't wanna see Monroe's ugly face for like, two days, got it?” 

Nick unfolded the paper and gaped. “Hap, this isn't—you don't—I don't know what to—”

“Don't say anything,” Hap said with a smile. “Your job is to convince Monroe that I'm healthy enough to sleep alone in the house for a couple nights. Which I am, man, I mean seriously.” He pointed at his face. “Serious face, man.” 

“Serious face,” Nick agreed. “All right, I'll talk to him, and Hap. Thank you so much.” 

“No problem,” Hap grinned, and slapped Nick hard enough on the back to make him cough. 

~~~

In the end, it really didn't take all that much convincing. As much as Monroe was concerned for Hap, he wasn't entirely in denial, and could see that his friend was much improved from the mess he'd been when he came home from the hospital. 

(The fact that Nick had 'convinced' him of the necessity of the situation by grabbing him by the collar of his ridiculous grey cardigan and pinning him to the wall of his kitchen may have helped, too.) 

So a hastily-thrown together bag of clothing later, Nick and Monroe were saying goodbye to Hap and Monroe was herding Nick out the door, shouts of 'stay away from my coffee, you plebeian,' thrown over their shoulders. 

And then they were in Nick's truck, and Monroe was pressing Nick into the side panel of the door, and Nick had the sudden realization that he severely doubted they were going to make it to the hotel before things quite literally came to a head. 

“We're in your driveway,” he protested into Monroe's mouth. Monroe huffed out a quiet laugh and moved his fingers more—more _something_ and Nick was going to come in his pants if he kept doing that. 

“I am fully aware,” Monroe muttered back, and then for a moment there was no sound in the truck other than their panting breaths and the quiet metal rasp of Nick's zipper. 

“Jesus christ,” Nick bit out, rocking his head back and hitting the window with a clunk. “ _Monroe_ oh god—” Monroe made a devious wrist movement and Nick cried out, trying to push himself more firmly into Monroe's hand, thwarted by his clothing. He clutched at Monroe's biceps, his mouth open, and promptly came like an over-eager sixteen year old. 

Panting, Nick grumbled in protest as the warm heat that was Monroe shifted backward off him and settled into the passenger seat. “I—” he mumbled after a moment, but froze at the sight of a pleased-looking Monroe sitting primly, licking up the mess in his hand. “Holy fuck,” Nick moaned, and tried to sit up and tuck himself away. 

“Come on, Nick,” Monroe smirked, mostly unruffled. The only sign that he was tenuously holding on was the slight red tint to his eyes and the noticeable bulge between his legs. “We've got a reservation.” 

“Oh, I hate you,” Nick grinned at him, now a bit recovered. He glanced around for his keys (they had fallen to the floor mat) and cranked the truck on. “You are so going to pay for that.” 

“I look forward to it,” Monroe said, returning his grin. Nick shook his head, amused, popped the truck into gear (he may have ground the clutch a little, but he could hardly be blamed—he was still shaking a little) and pointed it toward their hotel. 

Neither man noticed the dark shape half-hidden in the forest across from Monroe's house, watching. 

~~~

The hotel was nicer than Nick would have imagined—not that he was spending a great deal of time concentrating on any of the décor other than the ceiling. Apparently Hap hadn't been exaggerating when he said he'd called in a favor, because Nick had never been surrounded by opulence like this before. 

The afternoon of their full day at the hotel (the first night had mostly been a haze of pleasure and Nick was counting on their remaining night to be much the same) found Nick lazing naked in the bed, damp from a recent shared shower and sated right down to his bones. Sex with Monroe was everything he'd imagined and more; he couldn't believe they'd waited this long. 

Monroe sauntered out of the bathroom, lazily toweling his hair dry and yawning. He flopped on the bed, tossed the towel to the side, and immediately curled up next to Nick, sliding his hand possessively across Nick's stomach. 

“Hey,” he murmured. Nick made a happy humming noise in response, and Monroe smiled. “So I'm getting a little hungry.” 

Nick stretched, dropping his arm across the broad expanse of Monroe's shoulders. “Room service again? Or do you think we can handle getting dressed and going out like civilized people who have not been engaged in all manners of debauchery?” 

Monroe tilted his head down and nipped lightly at Nick's pectoral. “Mm, debauchery's nice, though...” 

“Never said it wasn't,” Nick grinned before rolling closer to Monroe, who looked up at him with those dark brown eyes, so full of _something_. Nick's breath caught for a moment and he swallowed, fighting down a short sentence that was a bit too intense for him to think about quite yet. 

“Let me take you somewhere nice,” Monroe said eventually, and Nick nodded, grateful for the distraction. He settled for shuffling even closer and brushing his lips gently with Monroe's, a chaste touch that Monroe only allowed for so long before he growled low in his throat and deepened it. 

“I suppose dinner could wait,” Nick breathed into Monroe's mouth, and felt acquiescence roll through his partner in the form of tightened arms around his back and gentle press of clawtips into his spine. Nick shivered—he didn't think it would be possible for him to ever get tired of that. 

“You're a bad influence,” Monroe muttered, sliding his hand down Nick's back. “Throwing me off my regimen of healthy meals and whatnot.” But he was smiling gently, and Nick marveled at the feel of his hand shifting back to human on its way down, rough calluses turning softer and more human as Monroe cupped his ass. “Are you...” Monroe asked, husky in his ear, and Nick grinned, because trust Monroe to be concerned about the state of his ass after the night they'd had. 

“Want you,” Nick whispered back in response, catching Monroe up in another kiss. Monroe moaned softly into his mouth and continued the slow exploration with his hand, sliding (now entirely clawless) fingers between Nick's cheeks and pressing lightly at his entrance. He was still loose and tender from last night, and Monroe was able to slip the tip of one finger in, a teasing press that had Nick arching and shaking in moments. 

Nick breathed out a plea that may have been something along the lines of 'come on,' and Monroe growled again, a noise that was sure to be an instant turn on for Nick for the rest of his life. “Roll over,” Monroe ordered, and Nick happily obliged, presenting himself and preparing for a slick finger that was doubtlessly coming. 

He was surprised, then, when instead of a click of a tube of lubricant, Monroe simply began to kiss down Nick's back, settling between his legs, letting his beard scrape gently over the backs of Nick's thighs. And it was a measure of how rarely this had happened that Nick was caught entirely off-guard by the first touch of wet heat to his opening. He jerked, startled, and Monroe laughed low in his throat before shifting to get a more firm grip on Nick's hips. 

“All right?” he asked, and punctuated his question with a much firmer lick, the broad swipe of his tongue wreaking havoc on Nick's nerve endings. Nick let out a rather embarrassing keening noise and buried his face in a pillow. Monroe chuckled against him, the vibrations making Nick writhe, and then went back to business with intent, laving attention on Nick's hole. He alternated his technique with those broad, firm strokes and shorter, penetrating jabs that slowly began to go deeper and deeper into Nick's core. 

Just when Nick thought nothing could possibly be more pleasurable, Monroe upped the ante, sliding a finger in alongside his tongue and pressing deep. After a moment of stretching (Nick really didn't need much by this point, he was so monumentally relaxed) Monroe began to play with Nick's slackened rim, teasing with lips and tongue while his finger unerringly searched out that small nub that made electricity shoot through Nick's core. 

Nick was leaking on the bed by this point, and when Monroe started up the steady rub of his prostate, he began helplessly humping down onto the mattress. He started up a steady chant of “Monroe, Monroe, please just fuck me, I can't take it, please Monroe, please,” and Monroe pulled back, albeit somewhat reluctantly. 

Risking a glance over his shoulder, Nick nearly lost it at the sight of Monroe cracking his jaw and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were dilated black with narrow rims of red around the pupils, and he was breathing heavily, clearly working on controlling his woge. He reached over to the side of the bed, snatching up the lube, and slicked himself quickly, drizzling a dollop down Nick's crack for good measure. 

The next moment, the lube was unceremoniously tossed aside and Monroe pressed himself along Nick's back, sliding his chest to press tight against Nick's body. “Let me bite you,” he whispered in Nick's ear. “Give you my mark, make you mine...” 

Nick groaned and nodded wildly, burying his face in his arms and pushing every inch of himself into the heat that was Monroe's body. “Yes, yes,” he cried, and Monroe whined, an animal sound of want that made Nick's cock jump against the soiled sheets. 

Gently, so gently, Monroe opened his mouth and placed his teeth low along the line of Nick's shoulder-blade, in a spot that Nick vaguely realized would be covered by clothing and less painful than if Monroe were to bite on his actual shoulder. He didn't bite down yet, though, just rested his mouth, holding Nick in place. 

And then he shifted his hips and Nick felt the heavy press of Monroe's erection against his hole. Overwhelmed with desire, Nick was past words; he pressed back, giving permission, silently begging Monroe to take him. Monroe obliged, pushing in, and Nick jolted slightly when Monroe's thick head popped past the first ring of muscles—as loose as he was, Monroe was _big_ , hotter than a human, and Nick keened, bearing down, forcing him in deeper. 

“Oh, Nick,” Monroe groaned, and rocked his hips, seating himself fully with one long push. “You feel so fucking good, how is this even possible...” 

Nick laughed breathlessly before reaching back and grabbing at where Monroe's hand was clinging in a death-hold onto his hip. He pried his fingers away and laced them together, dragging Monroe's hand back up to press by his head. “Move, Monroe,” he ordered. “Fuck me, make me yours...” 

“Oh god,” Monroe breathed, and set out to do just that, drawing out and pushing back in with slow, powerful thrusts that gradually increased in intensity until Nick was rocking forward on the bed with each drive in, Monroe's cock scraping over his prostate with pressure that was just shy of perfect. He clutched at Monroe's hand tight enough that his fingers started to go numb, but he didn't care. Nick could feel the building pressure in his balls and realized with a start that he didn't think he'd ever been fucked so thoroughly before, because he was fairly certain he was about to come untouched. 

“Monroe,” he panted out, his mouth turned filthy by need to come, by how perfectly Monroe filled his ass, by the growing pressure of Monroe's teeth on his shoulder-blade. “Monroe, fill me up, come on, I need it, come in me Monroe, please,” he begged, and behind him, Monroe whined brokenly before he shifted his angle, his thrusts more erratic. 

And that new angle was perfect, jabbing into Nick's prostate with such ruthless precision that Nick couldn't hold back his scream. He clenched around Monroe, emptying himself on the sheets. Monroe grunted once, twice, and Nick gasped as he simultaneously bit down into Nick's shoulder and released, pressed as deeply inside Nick as he could reach. 

Nick slowly came back to himself, panting, to find Monroe moving his hips absently in and out in shallow thrusts as his cock softened in Nick's ass, licking gently at the mark he'd bitten into Nick's shoulder. Nick groaned, overwhelmed, and Monroe slowly eased out, collapsing next to him and pulling him close. 

Still reeling, Nick pressed kisses into the hair on Monroe's chest. Monroe slid his hand down Nick's back and repeated the movement that had started this particular connection, slipping his fingers between Nick's cheeks and pressing fingers against his hole. This time, though, two fingers slid in easily with a mix of lube and Monroe's come to smooth the way. He and Nick both shuddered in pleasure. 

They lay in silence for a moment, Nick distracted by tingling feeling returning to his hands and the touch of Monroe's fingers hooked loosely inside him. Finally though, he shifted slightly, and Monroe withdrew his hand reluctantly. 

“Good?” Monroe asked, a gruff whisper, and Nick laughed into his chest. 

“Fucking perfect, Monroe,” he said, and titled his head up to kiss him. 

~~~

It was dark by the time Nick and Monroe were able to rouse themselves from bed and get dressed, but Monroe had claimed knowledge of a restaurant that would supposedly knock Nick on his ass, so Nick let himself be dragged from the hotel. 

“This place better be so unbelievably amazing,” Nick play-threatened as Monroe led him down a darkish winding street. Monroe grinned back at him, snatching up Nick's hand, and started gushing about their risotto. 

They were so wrapped up in each other, riding high on adrenaline and serotonin, that they didn't notice the darker shadow lingering at the edge of an alley until it was too late. 

One second, Monroe had paused to draw Nick into a smiling kiss, and the next, he'd frozen, a shocked look of panic on his face. Nick drew back with just enough time think shit no, as Monroe lifted a shaking hand to his neck and yanked out a glistening hypodermic needle. He blinked at it, then crumpled to the ground, revealing a smiling blond man wrapped head to toe in a long black trenchcoat, who gestured to Nick with a gun. 

“Bring him into the alley,” he ordered, and Nick had no option but to listen, not with a gun pointed at his chest. 

“What did you give to him?” he asked, trying to keep the shaking from his voice. He recognized the man from the security tapes—he was looking at their elusive murderer. Nick felt sick; he should have fucking known, but he'd been too punch-drunk on Monroe and happiness to pay attention to their surroundings. And now it was going to get them killed.

The man shrugged. “M99. He'll be out for a bit, though blutbaden are less susceptible to the drug than some. But I needed to give you and I a chance to talk, brother.” 

“I don't talk with murderers, and you're not my brother,” Nick bit out. “I'm a cop.” 

The man tilted his head condescendingly. “I'm aware. But you're a grimm first, so, tell me. You're leading the wolf on, some sick game? I don't judge, not when it comes to disposing of the things, and if you want to play with your meal, so be it. But...”

“I'm not playing with him.” Nick shifted slightly, putting himself between the man who had just outed himself as a 'fellow' grimm and Monroe. “I won't let you hurt him.” 

The man frowned. “That is not the correct answer, Nick.” With a smooth movement, he crouched down, peering around Nick's legs at Monroe, though his kept the gun pointed unwaveringly at Nick. “This thing's familiar. I thought he was, but you can never be sure until you see them close up.” He stood again, and shook his head. “This is so disappointing.” 

“Sorry to have dashed your hopes,” Nick snapped. The man gave him a scathing look, then brought the pistol down brutally on Nick's head and he crumpled down, unconscious next to Monroe. 

~~~

“Wake up.” 

The voice calling to Monroe was soft, but the hand resting on his face was callused and unfamiliar. Monroe groaned, tried to shift his limbs, and had a moment of panic when he realized he couldn't. His hands were bound behind his back, and his legs seemed immobile, too. 

“Good, good,” the soft voice continued, and Monroe blearily opened his eyes. A blond head swam into focus above him, and he cringed. The man smiled. “Hello, wolf.” 

Disbelieving, Monroe cut his eyes wildly to the sides, trying to see—was this a dream? But no, there was Nick, furious and gagged, just as tied up as he was but with a drying path of blood dripping down his face. 

“Nick—” Monroe breathed, panicked, but the man above him clucked disapprovingly and grabbed his chin, forcing Monroe to look at him. 

“It's been a long time, wolf,” he said, a slightly manic smile growing on his scarred face. “Do you remember me?” 

Forgetting where he was and who was present, Monroe snarled, low and furious. “You're dead, you're a ghost you fucking monster, I ripped your throat out twenty-five years ago.” 

The man leaned forward, grinning fully now. “Oh, wolf,” he whispered. “It didn't stick.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I am serious about the Graphic Depictions of Violence tag, people. Shit gets gory, here. ******

Nick watched with wide eyes as Monroe woged and snapped at the man; his teeth clicked together millimeters from the murderous grimm's grinning face. Snarling, Monroe flexed his muscles and Nick had a moment of hope when the thick zip ties holding Monroe's hands behind his back creaked in protest. But then the grimm brought up the hand still gripping his pistol and snapped it brutally across Monroe's face.

Monroe cried out as a gash opened on his cheek and Nick made an enraged noise that was muffled through the filthy rag the grimm had jammed in his mouth. The grimm glanced at him, apparently thinking, and said, “Nick. You're going to stand up and get in the trunk of my car, or I will shoot the wolf.” He shrugged apologetically, flashing a sharp smile in the darkness of the alley. “Well. I'll shoot you both eventually, of course, but I'd rather not do it here.” He made a face. “Messy.”

Nick glared, unmoving, and after a moment the grimm’s smile faltered slightly. He sighed, then cocked his gun and leveled it at Monroe's temple. “Stand up,” he ordered softly to Nick, all trace of levity gone. Seeing that he wasn't bluffing, Nick struggled to his feet, made awkward by the ties binding his own hands. At least his feet were free; they may be able to use that to their advantage.  

The grimm smiled again and gestured down the alley toward a waiting Cadillac with the barrel of his gun. “Trunk's unlocked. Go ahead and get in.”

With shaking steps, Nick turned and headed toward the car, trying to think past the thudding in his head and the taste of grease clinging to the rag in his mouth. Monroe knew this guy, somehow… but that didn’t make sense. He said he’d ripped his throat out (Nick’s cop brain skittered away from that admission—he didn’t want to think about Monroe’s possibly violent past) but the man was clearly here, alive, and very active.

And had been waiting.

Nick slumped against the trunk of the car and turned back around to gauge the situation—maybe there’d be an opening, they could attack—

But no. The grimm wasn’t taking any chances, guiding Monroe to stand with the gun nestled at the base of his skull. “In the trunk, Nick,” he called out in a singsong voice, and grinned down the alley in Nick’s direction. “Your unwillingness to listen to my directions is making this difficult, you know,” he added. “I _want_ to give you the courtesy of dying together, but this wolf isn’t an integral part of the whole scheme, kiddo. I’ll remind you just once more that shooting him here in this alley isn’t an issue for me.”

Nick narrowed his eyes but clumsily pulled open the trunk of the Cadillac and slid in. An interminable wait later, there was a soft scuffle of gravel and the car dipped as the grimm shoved Monroe in, too. He landed awkwardly on top of Nick, his hipbone digging painfully into Nick’s side. They had a few seconds where Nick tried to silently convey how sorry his was about this whole freaking situation before the grimm slammed the trunk shut and they were plunged into murky darkness.

Nick listened to the crunch of gravel as the grimm circled to the driver’s side door. The car dipped again, the door slammed, then the engine roared to life and they started moving. Seemingly unfrozen with the start of the car, Monroe wriggled a little to get most of his weight off Nick’s chest and leaned forward to pull the gag out of Nick’s mouth with his teeth.

After he spit out the gag, Monroe cast a look over Nick, an expression of strung-out nerves on his face that Nick could barely make out as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

“Are you all right?” Monroe asked in a hushed whisper.

“Fine,” Nick said. “You? Your head?” He tried to get a better look at the gash on Monroe’s face, but it was too dark to get a good look. He didn’t think it was bleeding heavily anymore, though. Monroe shook his head.

“’m fine. A little, uh, terrified, um. But.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Nick stared at him, then glanced over Monroe’s shoulder toward the seat back. He could make out a quiet jangle of music over the car stereo, and everything suddenly felt very surreal. He looked back at Monroe.

“What were you talking about?”

Monroe swallowed and winced. He obviously knew exactly what Nick was referring to, but was having a hard time wrapping his head around the apparent reality of it. When he opened his eyes again, they were glowing a soft sort of red that Nick hadn’t seen before, and Nick wanted nothing more than to pull him into his arms and comfort him, to erase that look of dazed shock from his face. 

“I—I don’t know, Nick,” Monroe said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “He looks like—” he cut himself off, swallowing, but when he went on, his voice was much stronger. “I lied to you, earlier. I said that the grimm that killed all those people when I was a kid—” He hesitated again. “I said—”

“Monroe, you don’t have to…” Nick breathed, taking pity, but Monroe’s eyes flashed a deeper red and he met Nick’s gaze.

“No, Nick. We’re… you deserve to know the truth.”

They sat in silence for a moment, rolling slightly as the grimm driving the car took the next turn a hint too fast. They could barely make out the strains of ‘ _Stuck in the Middle with You_ ’ on the stereo, and Nick almost let out an untimely, panicky giggle. Fortunately, Monroe saved him from his inappropriate _Reservoir Dogs_ train of thought when he sighed and started talking, directing his words in the vicinity of Nick’s shoulder.

“I’m really not a violent person. We were raised wieder, my whole pack was, and we always had it drilled in that we don’t hurt people, we weren’t aggressive, we could tamp down our instincts, but… after that grimm… he killed _everyone_ , Nick. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that Hap and I were the only ones that escaped.

“We hid around town for a while, took shelter with a freakin’ coyotl pack for chrissake… and then myself and one of the coyotl kids—Elle, her name was—we saw the guy. And we didn’t think, and I still don’t know how we did it. She was thirteen, I was eleven. But we attacked him, jumped him, and it only took a couple seconds. She pinned him down ‘cause she was bigger and I ripped his throat out. And I know it was the right guy because I could smell him and the dämonfeuer essence he had on him, and… and…”

Monroe sucked in a breath and Nick realized he was close to crying. He leaned forward and nosed at Monroe’s face, trying to soothe him, ignoring how his brain helpfully reminded him that there was no statute of limitations on murder. “Hey, it’s—I mean, it’s… okay…”

“It’s _not_ okay, Nick,” Monroe snapped, but then shook his head. “Sorry. But it’s not. You’re a cop, and I killed a guy. When I was fucking _eleven._ ” But then he widened his eyes and craned his neck around as if he could see through the back of the seat that separated them from the cab of the car. “Except apparently _not_ , because he’s fucking driving us somewhere—”

“Yea,” Nick muttered, “That’s a little—”

“It’s the same guy,” Monroe insisted a little manically, whipping his head back around and looking intently at Nick. “I _don’t_ forget smells, and I sure as fuck wouldn’t forget _his_ smell, and I’m not crazy. It’s the same guy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Nick said, placating. “Monroe. I really don’t. But we gotta get our shit together and figure this out right now, or we’re going to die.”

Monroe was breathing heavily, but when he looked back at Nick, the red had faded from his eyes. “What are we going to do?”

With both of their hands tied and trapped in the cramped trunk of a car of a murderous, death-defying grimm, Nick honestly wasn’t sure. But they were a grimm and a blutbad, and even if he wasn’t sure exactly what they could do, he was sure they could do something. They were the baddest of the big bads, both of them. The situation wasn’t insurmountable. Couldn’t be.

“I…” Nick trailed off, thinking hard. “I don’t know. We’re going to have to just…”

“Yea,” Monroe agreed, sounding a little more put together. “Roll with it.”

They lapsed into silence for long minutes, separately contemplating what they could do when the trunk opened. Lost in thought, Nick jumped when he felt Monroe shuffle even closer and tuck his chin over Nick’s head.

“Well this is quite exciting,” Monroe deadpanned. Nick twisted the best he could to slide a little closer and tried to put on a braver face.

“This is... not how I wanted tonight to go,” he joked weakly. “I was thinking more along the lines of dinner and maybe blowjobs, but we can work with this.” He sobered. “It'll be okay, you know. I'll make sure—”

Monroe snorted, interrupting the serious moment. “What, this isn't your ideal date? Kidnappings and murder admissions, and I've always wanted to see how difficult it was to bust out of a car trunk. Put my strength to the test, you know?” Nick felt him smile into his hair, and he pulled away so he could lean their foreheads together.

“God, I'm sorry,” he whispered, unable to joke anymore and closing his eyes. “I put you on this fucker’s radar. If we’d never—”

“Hey, none of that,” Monroe whispered back. He nosed at Nick, catching his full attention and forcing him to meet his eyes. “Nick, I'm not—you didn’t put me on anyone’s radar, and I don't regret meeting you. You're fucking amazing and confusing and—and fascinating and you know, what with the way I roll, I was bound for an early death anyway.” Nick made a face that Monroe probably couldn’t see in the murk of the trunk—or maybe he could; Nick hadn’t ever asked him about blutbaden night vision.

“Don’t,” he said warningly, and Monroe’s face visibly softened. He leaned forward again and this time caught Nick up in a sweet kiss that had Nick’s heart lurching—it felt too much like goodbye.

When they pulled back, Monroe rested their foreheads together again and said softly, “There's worse ways to go out than by the side of the guy you're falling in love with.”

“Jesus christ, Monroe,” Nick muttered, almost immediately needing to fight back tears. “You're not going to fucking die.”

Monroe shrugged. “The fact that we're in the trunk of a car being driven by what, apparently, is the same grimm who tried to murder me and whom I then killed when I was kid kinda begs to differ.” He looked contemplative. “You know, I wasn't aware you guys had magical regeneration powers.”

“We don't.” Nick frowned. “At least, I think we don't. There's not much on my ancestors in my books.”

“Makes sense,” Monroe said, nodding. “I wouldn’t want a written record of all my weaknesses if I were a grimm.” He smirked. “Actually, I’m still not too keen on the idea of those mysterious books of yours—I don’t like a written record of all my weaknesses as a blutbad, either.”

“You’re a smartass,” Nick murmured, and Monroe flashed him a smile.

“The most entertaining kind of ass,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss Nick again.

Nick arched into him as best he could in their cramped space, because if this was it (he didn’t want to think about it, but it was rapidly becoming a very real possibility) he needed Monroe to know.

“I love you, too,” he said into Monroe’s mouth.

“Yea,” Monroe whispered.

With another rattle of gravel, the car stopped. They parted like a bolt, Nick twisting to get his legs freer—if he could lash out the second the grimm opened the trunk, then maybe, maybe—

Silence from outside the car. The wait lasted long enough that Nick turned to ask something of Monroe, but at that moment, the trunk popped open and they were greeted with a the sight of the grinning grimm looking in at them, his gun pointed directly at both their torsos.

“I wouldn’t,” he cautioned, raising an eyebrow at Nick’s offensive posture. “How about you get out of there, Nick? You and I should have a little chat.” And with that he lunged forward, grabbing Nick brutally by the shoulder and levering him out of the trunk. Nick had enough time to shoot a panicked look over his shoulder before the grimm had slammed the trunk shut again, leaving Monroe to his own devices in the car.

He shoved Nick hard enough toward what appeared to be a row of empty warehouses that Nick staggered and almost fell. But Nick wasn’t an idiot—far from it, in fact, and used his stumble to surreptitiously better take in his surroundings. He could smell the sort of boggy moistness that he knew meant he was near the Willamette, and he didn’t think they’d driven for long enough to make it into Washington.

“Up,” growled the grimm, but then delivered a sharp kick to Nick’s back that did little to help him stand.

“I’m trying,” Nick snapped back, staggering. “What do you want from us?”

Behind him, the grimm sighed. “I don’t want anything from the wolf, except for him to die. You, on the other hand, I’d like to see if I can convince you of my work.”

Nick bit back a sharp reply—it wouldn’t be of any advantage to piss the guy off, and in fact might do nothing more than speed up his own execution. He could play along for now, no matter how sick he was feeling.

They reached a side door that had been hiding in the dim evening light and the grimm opened it, gesturing Nick inside. Nick stepped into the cloying blackness reluctantly; he couldn’t see a thing past the door’s threshold and felt irrationally worried that something even worse was waiting for him inside. But that was ridiculous; he glanced at the man beside him. All the monsters were out here in the open.

The grimm was silent as they entered, shutting the door behind them with a final-sounding crash that made Nick flinch. Before he had even recovered from the startle, Nick felt the cold barrel of the grimm’s gun pressed against his throat.

“Stay.”

Nick nodded, and the gun disappeared. He could hear the sound of footsteps walking away, but the echoes of the room were deceiving and he couldn’t tell where the grimm was headed. Suddenly, there was a whirr and a click and bright halogen lights flared into life overhead. Nick ducked his head, pain exploding behind his eyes at the sudden change in lighting after so long in the dark, and the bump on his head where the grimm had knocked him earlier screamed in protest.

“Sorry,” the grimm said unrepentantly, and Nick looked up blearily. The man was grinning, the gun in his hand pointed unwaveringly at Nick’s chest. After a moment though, he gestured with it toward a recessed door toward the side of the room. “Go on, Nick. Gotta find a place for you to watch the fire.”

Nick’s skin crawled at the mention of fire—he wondered if the grimm was planning on killing them first or letting them die in the burn. Either way seemed bad, though he had an inkling that the fire option would give them more of a chance to escape.

Covered by the gun, he had no option but to head to the next room, though he walked slowly enough to take in his surroundings. They were of little help—the warehouse was seemingly empty, just a few stacked boxes toward the back of a long, echoing room. There was nothing defining for Nick to take note of, and he felt his stomach sink a little lower.

The next room proved more helpful, though—it had been an office, and there was a faded company calendar still pinned to a corkboard over a rickety desk. Llanda Motors sounded familiar, and Nick was fairly sure it was the name of a long-foreclosed car dealership.

He turned and faced the grimm, who smiled encouragingly at him and gestured for him to take a seat in a moth-eaten office chair. Nick did, risking a quiet, “You could let Monroe go, you know. I’m the one you have a problem with.”

The grimm grimaced and shook his head, producing a length of rope from the recesses of his swirling coat. “I have a problem with him, too,” he said as he went to work lashing Nick securely to the chair. Nick’s hopes sank as he felt the knots tighten—one thing this grimm wasn’t was sloppy. “Even if my problem is simply a general desire to rid the world of wesen filth.” He paused and brought his face within inches of Nick’s. “You, though… you have lost the way.” He frowned. “You should be taught a lesson.”

Nick winced as the grimm went back to work tightening the rope that was already digging cruelly into his arms and chest. “You murder indiscriminately,” he accused, and the grimm shook his head.

“No. Our ancestors’ original purpose was to rid the world of vermin. I am simply carrying on their work, and using the most pure form of cleansing possible.” His eyes grew misty and far-away. “Fire is God’s cleanest way of purification.”

Nick frowned—the man was clearly unhinged, and you can’t argue with crazy people—and changed tactics. “How are you alive?” This close, he could see faint scars on the grimm’s neck, lending some credence to Monroe’s claims of his attack, but the man in front of him couldn’t be much older than Nick himself, was obviously under forty.

Suddenly seemingly pleased with himself, the grimm swished out his jacket and took a seat opposite Nick in another dilapidated chair. “Your wolf told you that he killed me, did he? Did he explain how he and the coyotl ambushed me and left me hemorrhaging in the dirt? Did he talk about how he laughed after he ripped my throat out, how he licked my blood from his muzzle?”

Nick blanched. “He said…”

“I don’t really care what he said,” the grimm interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “And I know what I did. I culled his pack, killed the pups, beheaded the alphas.” He snorted and leaned closer to Nick. “They’re not _human,_ Nick. They’re animals, no different than.”

“They’re very different,” Nick said softly. “Monroe’s a good man, and I’ve met many good wesen. They’re more human than you are.”

Smiling, the grimm leaned back again and changed the subject. “How am I alive, you ask?” Nick nodded, and still smirking, the grimm reached into his jacket and produced a vial of something violent red and bubbling.

“A potion,” he said. “I took a hexenbiest lover for a time—” he shot Nick a reproachful look “—to serve my own ends. How you _should_ have been treating the wolf, Nick. She made me this, this wonderful drink. It heals my ails, keeps me young and strong and able to carry on with my work.” He gazed reverentially at the bottle in his hands for a moment, then looked up again at Nick, fury lining his cruel face.

“Your wolf didn’t think to wait and make sure I died. He was terrified, the pathetic pup.” He tucked the bottle back in his jacket. “Idiot, but blutbaden have never been known for their mental prowess.” He grinned at Nick as if he expected him to agree, and the smile faded slowly as Nick met his look with stone. He sat back and crossed his arms.

“How long have you been blessed with your grimm sight, Nick?”

Nick thought back, quickly tallying up the time. He’d thought he was going insane—was it only nine months ago? Yes, because the wildermann Hank had seen had been in April, and they’d been on the same page since then, for the last eight months. It seemed like a lifetime.

“About nine months,” he admitted, and was rewarded when then grimm looked surprised.

“So little time?” He looked away, talking to himself. “And you had no guidance, blindsided by this…” he fixed Nick with a heated, impassioned gaze. Nick recoiled slightly, but the grimm just leaned closer.

“I would teach you, if you wanted,” he said, his voice soft. “Teach you the truth, how the wesen sweep over this world like locusts, how they destroy everything they touch. You could see the truth, the light.” His eyes flicked up and down Nick’s prone body. “Not since the old days have a pair stood righteous and smote the wicked. We could be unstoppable.” He smiled hesitantly at Nick, and in that instant, Nick realized that despite his eloquence, this man was crazier than he’d realized.

“I—”

But the grimm was shaking his head. “But you’re tainted, you’ve taken the filth into your body.” He glanced out the door, in the direction of where Nick knew the car—with Monroe still in the trunk—waited. Fever-bright eyes turned back to Nick, and a slow smile that promised pain grew on his face.

“We should purify you.”

The grimm stood, a smooth, threatening movement, and advanced on Nick, reaching into his jacket and pulling out the vial again. He unscrewed it and removed a dropper, sucking a minute amount of the viscous liquid into it. Eyes wide, Nick struggled against his ropes as the grimm suddenly stepped over him, straddling his waist, and forced Nick’s head backward.

“No,” Nick bit out, gritting his teeth against the intrusion of the dropper, but the grimm dug his fingers painfully into Nick’s jaw and he opened his mouth with a cry of pain. A burst of flavor erupted on his tongue, something horrible and rotting, the unholy taste of death held in its tracks.

Nick gagged and tried to spit, but the grimm dug his fingers in tighter against his mouth, hissing words in German or Latin or something into Nick’s ear—he may not have known the language, but he knew a baptismal prayer when he heard it.

As suddenly as he’d come, the grimm was gone from Nick’s lap. He stood panting slightly about three feet away, eyeing Nick, who was trying not to throw up.

After a moment, the grimm nodded and bent down, kneeling on the filthy floor to rummage in his doctor’s bag. Nick, now catching his breath, hadn’t noticed him bringing it in at any point, but maybe it had been here the whole time. He wondered how long the insane grimm had been camped in this warehouse.

But when the grimm stood again, all of Nick’s thoughts centered firmly on the device in his hands, a slim tank connected to a hose and nozzle. Even from here, Nick could smell the cloying sweetness of the essence of dämonfeuer, and he recoiled back again, fighting against his bonds with renewed vigor.

“Oh honey,” the grimm said softly, “hush. It _will_ hurt, at least for a little while, but when you come through the fire’s embrace, you will be cleansed.” He stepped forward and ran the backs of his fingers down Nick’s cheek. “You _must_ be cleansed, Nick.”

With that, he stepped back again and pointed the nozzle at Nick’s chest, flicked something on the tank, and Nick gasped as a cold stream of pink liquid hit him, drenching his shirt and pants. The grimm stood firm, coating Nick almost entirely with the stuff, getting it in his hair, down his legs, circling around to get his back.

After a minute, he turned off the tank and tucked it away again in his briefcase. Nick watched silently as he stood, the flash of a lighter in his hand, and closed his eyes when he heard the flick and the smelt the butane.

“Please don’t,” he whispered, but he could already feel the heat of the small flame near his cheek.

A moment later, he was entirely unable to hold back his screams.

~~~

Monroe growled into the darkness of the car trunk and flexed his muscles again, ignoring the slick slide of blood against his wrists, instead feeling the flex of the plastic that bound them together. The grimm had taken Nick maybe ten minutes ago, give or take, and Monroe was fairly certain he just about had it—

He gasped in shock as the zip ties suddenly snapped with a crack, and he brought his arms around, quickly rolling his shoulders and massaging feeling back into his fingers. Now to get out of the trunk.

He’d watched enough Mythbusters to know that he should knock out one of the car’s taillights, so he did it quickly, grimacing as the glass shattered on the pavement outside. The hole let in enough light that his eyes quickly adjusted and he inspected the locking mechanism of the trunk. He thought that a few good kicks should do it, so he shifted to get the most momentum and aimed his booted foot dead-on to the lock.

Five sharp kicks later, the trunk popped open and Monroe rolled out, freezing on the ground when the first thing he smelled was a subtle waft of smoke. He looked up, heart in his throat, but couldn’t see any flames, not yet. There was, however, a thin trickle of smoke seeping through an open doorway in the row of warehouses in front of him.

He didn’t even hesitate, pushing himself to his feet and bolting toward the smoke, clearing the doorway in a matter of seconds. He skidded to a halt inside the warehouse, looking around wildly. The smoke was worse in here, thick enough that it was making seeing and breathing difficult, and he could make out the flickering orange of fire through another doorway to his left.

“…Nick…” he breathed, his mind rebelling against the underlying scent of cooking meat he thought he could make out under the fire and dämonfeuer. “No, Nick…”  

Monroe’s heart leapt when a figure appeared against the orange and yellow backdrop, but sank just as quickly when he realized the silhouette was sporting a familiar long and flowing jacket. He growled and woged, letting out as much of his inner wolf as he could get without turning entirely lupine.

“Wolf!” The grimm laughed, sounding pleased to see him, and took a step closer. “I’m afraid you weren’t fast enough.” He drew his gun and pointed it in Monroe’s direction; Monroe ignored it and began to advance steadily, a red haze descending over his vision.

“You killed him,” he snarled, and the grimm laughed again.

“I purified him.” 

Monroe broke into a run, reaching the grimm just as he fired off his first shot. The bullet sliced a groove along Monroe’s shoulder that he wouldn’t feel until later, and he buried his claws directly in the grimm’s carotid.

It should have been a killing blow, should have dropped the homicidal fucker where he stood, but the grimm barely swayed, ripping Monroe’s hand away and delivering a swift jab to his side with a knife that he’d had concealed in his fist. Monroe roared in pain and reeled back, knife sticking out from between his ribs. He sagged to the ground and the grimm stood grinning over him, blood pouring down his neck.

“He would never be yours, wolf,” the grimm hissed. “He belongs with his own kind. I have done him a kindness you will never understand.”

Monroe growled and yanked the knife out on the second try, his fingers slipping through blood too ineffectually to manage it at first. “Monster,” he howled, then was forced to dodge as the grimm directed a kick at his face.

“Your sin against your master race is unforgivable,” the grimm stated, advancing as Monroe rolled away. Above them a beam crackled, the fire spreading from the side room to the roof of the warehouse proper. The smoke was getting thicker, and Monroe coughed out a breath. The grimm didn’t appear affected.

“This death is too kind to you,” the grimm snarled out, his face shifting into varying degrees of insanity, the growing flames playing cruelly across his features. “Never have I met a creature so above his station, wolf. You touch what is not yours to touch, take liberties that would _never_ be afforded filth like you—”

Monroe had had enough. He cried a wordless cry of rage and pain and heartbreak and was up in an instant, claws and teeth finding purchase in yielding skin, tearing and hurting. He wanted to make this man suffer, make him scream, wanted to drink his blood and eat his flesh.

The grimm fell back against his onslaught, screaming out his surprise. Monroe didn’t let up, digging his claws in and tackling him down to the ground where he worried any exposed skin he could reach, the satisfaction of tearing into him speaking to something dark and wild in his chest.

Before long, the grimm’s struggles underneath him stopped and Monroe forced himself to peel himself off the still form under him. He looked down with a sharp feeling of satisfaction. Bits of the grimm were strewn around in a gory half-circle of blood and viscera. Monroe spat contemptuously, saliva that was more blood than spit landing on the remains of the grimm’s face.

“Come back from _that_ ,” Monroe growled, then impulsively bent down and snatched up his gun, jamming it into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back.

Creaking wooden support beams snapped his attention back to reality, and Monroe wiped a hand over his mouth, doing little to clean his face of its grisly coating. He looked toward the side room where he thought the fire had started. He didn’t want to go in there, his nose betraying what he knew he’d find, but he. He owed it to Nick.

With a deep breath (that then resulted in a hacking cough due to the smoke) Monroe headed to the room.

The fire was still burning merrily in here, abandoned office supplies providing more than enough fuel. Despite the fact that Monroe knew what he would see when he entered, the sight wasn’t easy, and he only narrowly avoided vacating his stomach on the cement floor.

Nick’s body was blackened, and Monroe knew better than to think he might still be alive. But he wasn’t about to leave him in this pit of hell, so he kicked aside burning bits of the collapsing ceiling and gathered what was left of his—of Nick—in his arms and left the room. He didn’t even bother glancing toward where he knew the body of the insane grimm was lying across the warehouse floor, just headed for the door to the outside and fresh air.

Once outside, Monroe walked a little distance away from the burning building. People would be here soon—a warehouse fire was sure to be reported quickly, and he needed a moment to say goodbye to Nick alone.

He gently laid Nick’s body on the ground, then sank down next to him and lowered his head.

“I should have been faster,” he said softly. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nick, if I’d just…” he trailed off and closed his eyes, giving in and letting heavy tears drip down his face. He stayed like this for several long minutes, crying deep and silent, until a sudden voice startled him out of his misery.

“Not crying over me, are you?”

Monroe jerked sideways, heart beating wildly, and looked down. His mouth fell open. Nick was looking up at him, blue eyes wide and a little shocked in his burned face—burns that were fading and healing in front of Monroe’s eyes, leaving smooth pink skin in their wake. Monroe made an inarticulate noise.

On the ground, Nick coughed (ash escaped from between his lips) and pushed himself up to his elbows, staring down his body as blackened skin knitted itself back together. “Wow that’s weird,” he muttered, and cocked his head. “Doesn’t hurt anymore, though. Kinda tickles.”

Monroe finally found his voice. “What the—fuck—fucking, what?! Nick, what the fuck!”

Nick looked up at him, then winced as skin regrew in an especially sensitive area. “Yea, I have no idea. He had this potion stuff and made me drink it—” He stopped speaking suddenly and looked around wildly. “Where is he? How’d you get out of the trunk? What happened? Monroe, I—”

But Monroe wasn’t listening. “Oh my god, you’re alive,” he sobbed out, and pulled Nick to him blindly, burying his nose in Nick’s hair. Nick brought his hands up instantly, holding tight to Monroe’s sweater.

“Hey, I’m okay, I’m okay,” he murmured into Monroe’s ear, and Monroe let out a shaking breath. After a moment, he pulled back and inspected Nick again—he was entirely healed, his new pale skin mostly smooth but marred with the odd ripple of scar. He touched the largest, a spot on Nick’s hip, with shaking fingers.

“The potion didn’t heal you completely,” he muttered, and Nick glanced down.

“I guess not. But I’d take scars over burns any day.”

They sat in silence for a moment until Monroe remembered himself. He shrugged out of his sweater and handed it to Nick (he was entirely naked; the fire had stripped him effectively) and then dropped his jeans to pull his boxers off and let Nick use them. There was a clatter on the ground as he unbuttoned his jeans, and Nick glanced at him curiously.

Monroe turned around and blinked when he spotted the gun he’d liberated from the grimm’s body. He bent over and picked it up, handing it to Nick after a brief hesitation. “I took it from… did you find out who he was?”

Nick shook his head and accepted both the gun and clothes. “No. He never said.” And then he looked up with wide blue eyes and asked, “What happened to him, Monroe?”

“I, ah,” Monroe stammered. “…He killed you. I could smell it, Nick, and I couldn’t…” Nick touched his face; gentle fingers that made Monroe lose his breath. He’d almost lost this man, he couldn’t even imagine… “I killed him. Again, I guess… kinda ripped him apart.” Monroe glanced toward the bonfire that the warehouse had become. “It wasn’t pretty.”

Nick nodded. “You did the right thing,” he said bitterly. “He was absolutely insane. He—” but he stopped talking suddenly and frowned toward the burning building. “Holy fuck,” he breathed, and Monroe whipped his head around.

There was a figure standing at the edge of the fire, backlit and ominous, smoking slightly in a tattered black jacket. Nick and Monroe both watched, frozen, as he began to advance on them.

Monroe found his voice first. “You can’t—”

“I can!” roared the grimm, running now toward them, an insane grin splitting his face. He was badly burned, blackened skin stretched tight over gaping wounds, a nightmare wrapped in smoke and fire and Monroe couldn’t even help it; he sobbed out a terrified breath and crawled backward over the rough gravel of the parking lot.

The grimm slowed as he stepped closer, grinning wider at their frozen fear. “I am your death, filth,” he hissed through a broken jaw. “The wolf must die, and you—” he pointed a finger that was mostly charred bone at Nick, who was watching horrorstruck. “—you are an abomination in the eyes of our ancestors. I cleansed you and you ran back to the arms of your whore. There is no salvation for you, false grimm, false man, false—”

A gunshot echoed through the row warehouses, and Monroe jumped. The grimm dropped to the ground, the back of his head blown away.

Nick lowered his arm, his hand shaking on the trigger of the smoking gun. He turned to Monroe, panting, his face pointedly blank.

“Let’s tie him up before he regenerates again.”

~~~

Two weeks later (the insane grimm under maximum security lock and key) Nick accidentally gave himself a paper cut and watched as it didn’t heal. He breathed a sigh of relief; he’d been worrying that they had an immortal prisoner on their hands, but apparently you had to continue taking the potion for the effects to last.

He was stupidly happy he wouldn’t have to figure out how to deal with that sort of paperwork.

~~~

Nick was beset by a sudden burst of nerves as he stepped into the courthouse. Looking around and spying a bathroom, he bolted toward it to collect himself, letting the door swing shut wildly behind him as he made his retreat. He headed directly toward the sink to splash water on his face and took deep breaths, avoiding his eyes in the mirror.

Behind him, the door swung open again, more gently this time, and Nick glanced up when a warm hand slid reassuringly down his back.

“Hey,” Monroe murmured, turning Nick gently around and straightening his tie. “Are you all right?” He wiped at an errant drop of water on his collar and leveled Nick’s insignia.

“’Course,” Nick said, clearing his throat and fussing with the tie, knocking it off center again. Monroe rolled his eyes and batted Nick’s hands away, tightening the thing against Nick’s neck and smoothing his hands down the front of Nick’s uniform.

“You’re testifying in court against the guy that lit you on fire,” he muttered, eyes worried.

Nick arched an eyebrow. “And whose brains I then blew out and whose face you ate.”

Monroe mouthed wordlessly for a moment, then spluttered, “I did not _eat_ his _face_ , Nicolas, my god, you disgusting man, I can’t believe you’d even _say_ that—”

With a grin, Nick ducked away from him and poked him in the side, already more at ease thanks to Monroe’s playful outrage. “I’m just happy that this fucker’s going to prison for the rest of his life.” He ticked off offences on his fingers. “First-degree murder, arson, kidnapping, _attempted_ murder, plus a laundry list of everything from grand theft auto to breaking and entering to jaywalking. I think we’ve got him.”

“Well yea, you’ve clearly got him, but still,” Monroe said, sobering, “it could be… upsetting. Facing him, that is.”

“Like it won’t be for you?” Nick asked softly, and Monroe shrugged.

“Of course it’s upsetting. But he’s going away for good. He’ll get justice.” His face clouded over. “And I know people inside. It’s not going to be a secret that he killed kids.”

Nick almost protested—there were laws against that sort of prison justice—but thought better of it. The fucker deserved whatever he had coming to him. So instead, he looped his fingers in Monroe’s belt loops and pulled him close, pressing their hips together. Monroe looked down.

“Keep doing that, Detective, and we won’t make court on time.”

“It’s your fault for looking so tasty in your dress uniform, Lieutenant,” Nick murmured with a filthy smile. Monroe smirked back and leaned in for a soft kiss. Nick parted his lips and let them slide over Monroe’s, lost for the moment in simply touching this man that he had fallen so hard for.

Once they reluctantly pulled apart, Monroe whispered “You know that I’m always going to be here for you,” into the close space between them. “After this court date, after he goes to prison, the next time some wesen shit rears its ugly head and you have to deal with it—you can’t get rid of me now, Nick.”

Nick smiled and tilted his head up again, briefly catching Monroe’s lips in a barely-there brush of their mouths. “I’d never want to.” He found Monroe’s hand and squeezed. “I love you.”

Monroe nodded against him and then pulled away, smoothing down his uniform and sliding into a mask of slightly-rumpled professionalism. “Let’s go make sure this fucker can’t ever hurt anyone ever again.”

Grinning, Nick led them into the courtroom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! I hope you enjoyed it. As always, I'm my own beta, so if you spot any mistakes, please let me know and I'll fix them. Love you all, and thanks for the support!


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